


Forever at Last

by SnowboundMermaid



Category: How I Met Your Mother
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Divorce, Post-Finale
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-09
Updated: 2017-09-17
Packaged: 2018-06-01 05:06:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 55,583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6501886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnowboundMermaid/pseuds/SnowboundMermaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Barney and Robin share a moment during Ted and Tracy's wedding, which starts them both thinking about the past…and the future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own HIMYM or anything vaguely related to it. This is only my own what-if imagining.

New York, 2020

"Want to get a drink or something?" Barney's question echoed in the empty nave of the chapel.

Robin's pulse skipped. "Don't you have to get back to your daughter?" There. He couldn't refute that. Only a couple of seconds now, and she could be out the door, in a cab and off in whatever direction the traffic would allow.

"She's with James and Tom for the day. I'm not allowed back until I spend at least six hours in a row in the company of adults. Back to MacLaren's?" He tilted his head in the direction of the exit, and Robin knew she couldn't refuse. The man still had it.

"Where else?" She answered with the gamest smile she could muster. "Cab or walk it?"

Barney shot a quick glance at Robin's feet. "Think you can handle it in those heels?"

Relief coursed through her. They had a history with cab rides, her and Barney. The only more dangerous location would be hospital rooms. If she could avoid both, she had a chance of getting out of this with what was left of her heart intact. "Walking's good. Nice weather for it."

"Then walking it is." He held the door for her then, and again at MacLaren's, his hand resting for the briefest of moments in the small of her back both times. They traversed the blocks in between in an uneasy silence, stealing looks at the other, then looking away.

She knew this dance. Had done this dance. Done it with him more times than she cared to count, and damned if it didn't always end the same way. She was too old for this stuff. They both were, but damned if they didn't slide into the same old booth as if nothing at all had changed. As if there had been no divorce, as if Barney didn't have a baby. A baby. Robin's heart clenched. Her stomach soured. The one thing she couldn't give him puffed his chest with pride. For the thousandth time, she gave herself a mental smack for picking up the phone when Tracy called. The only thing worse than going to an ex's wedding was being in a wedding party that included two exes. She should go. She would go. She scooted to the edge of her seat, one hand braced on the table to push herself away.

"Still drink Scotch?" Barney asked.

Probably too much. "Do you really need to ask?"

"That's my girl." Robin didn't want to think about how long it had been since that grin was aimed at her. Warmth pooled in her stomach. "Not my girl," he corrected himself with a playful roll of his eyes. "We're over all that, right?"

"Totally," Robin answered with her best news anchor smile. "Yeah. Same here. Done. Totally over. We're so much like strangers that you could pick me up right now, take me to a cheap hotel and do me until my eyes roll back in my head before I had any idea who you were." She clapped one hand over her mouth. Oh God, that was her truth voice.

Barney's brows shot up. "I was kind of hoping for friends, but strangers is better than enemies."

"Yeah. Friends. Friends is good. Are good. Know what else is good? Scotch. Lots and lots of scotch." Maybe she could offer the first round and make a break for the door.

"Scotch it is. First round's on me." He was out of the seat and at the bar before she could protest. "Glen McKenna," he announced minutes later. He set two glasses and the whole bottle down on the table before resuming his seat.

Robin's eyes widened. "You didn't have to do that."

"Au contraire, I did. This is a special occasion. Ted Mosby got married." He splashed a generous portion of the amber liquid over the ice in both glasses.

"Finally," Robin added.

Barney's jocular mood sobered. "Are you okay with that?"

Robin forced a smile. "Yeah, of course I'm okay."

"Are you sure? Because I saw you getting a little misty there during the wedding."

Robin scoffed. "I didn't cry during Ted and Tracy's wedding. You cried during Ted and Tracy's wedding. Crying is stupid. Weddings are stupid." She picked up her glass and took her first drink. First of many, she guessed. It was going to take more than one to get through this.

"So you weren't thinking about our wedding, not even once? Not even during the vows?"

Robin rolled one shoulder and stared down at her drink. "Nope."

Barney turned his own glass in his hands. The ice cubes clinked and slid apart. "Must've been just me, then, huh? I thought we might have had a moment. Guess not. No big deal."

"You're all soft and emotional now that you're a dad. You're so soft that you're halfway to being the mom."

The smile Barney gave her then didn't reach his eyes. "Guilty."

"Got any pictures?"

In that instant, he brightened, the impish grin that still haunted her nights now blinding her with its intensity. "Only like a million." He moved into Robin's side of the booth and scrolled through the pictures on his phone. His voice washed over her as he narrated each one. She didn't catch the words, only the tone. It was enough.

Robin knew that tone of his voice, that look of complete and utter devotion on Barney's face, all too well, both in the picture and in person. It hurt. That tone, that look used to be for her. It had been, on their wedding day and so many days after until she pushed him away. When he came to the end of the pictures, and turned expectant blue eyes on her, she had to say something. The silence between them would suffocate her if she didn't. "You said Ellie was staying with James and Tom, not her mother. I noticed you don't use her name."

Barney winced. "Had to go right for the tough question straight out of the gate, didn't you?"

"That's why they pay me the big bucks." Pause. "Unless you'd rather not say. It's none of my business. This isn't an interview. I'm just in work mode pretty much all the time. Forget I asked."

A sad smile played about the corners of Barney's mouth. "No, my therapist said it's good to talk about it."

"You're seeing a therapist?"

A muscle twitched in his jaw. "Therapy guy. Sounds better."

"Right. Therapy guy."

"Ellie's mother has issues. More than I do, if you can believe that. Remember all those empty headed twenty-two year olds I used to bang? She's their queen. We don't even like each other. Don't even use each other's names. She's #31 and I'm Sperm Donor. Which doesn't make any sense, considering she waived her parental rights before Ellie was even born. I am legally Ellie's only parent, and that is probably far more than you wanted to know. How about you? Lily says you got a dog again."

"Do a couple of specials on dog rescues and look what happens. I can't say no to those big sad eyes." Especially, she added to herself, when they were bright blue and sitting right next to her.

As if on cue, Barney's brows shot upwards, mouth curving in the shape that only came with one of his infamous genius ideas. "Ellie should have a dog. Maybe you could point me toward a good rescue? What breeds are good with babies?"

Robin swallowed. "There's a list of reputable rescues on my website, but sure. I love helping dogs find good homes. A baby and a dog at the same time are a lot for a single person, though. Maybe wait until Ellie's a little older?"

Disappointment chased the brightness from his eyes. "That's probably best. I should start doing the research now, though, right? So I'll be able to make an informed decision later?"

"That's the best way to go. Dogs aren't toys; they're for a lifetime. Do you know what kind of dog you, um, Ellie, might like?"

"Um, Canadian?"

Robin blinked. "Canadian?"

"You know, those yellow dogs that look like Golden Retrievers but not as shaggy? Do they shed a lot?"

"Labrador Retrievers? They're a pretty energetic breed. They'll need lots of exercise. Maybe you should spend time with different kinds of dogs. I'm hosting an adoption event in Central Park next Sunday. You could bring Ellie and see how she does around dogs. Get her used to them early. The official start is at nine, but I can get you and Ellie on the VIP list. Come early and get a peek behind the scenes?"

The smile came back, cautious this time. "It's a date. Not a date-date, I mean. A dog date. For Ellie."

"For Ellie," Robin echoed and took a drink. The Scotch slid down her throat, but didn't do anything to warm the empty coldness that gripped her stomach. Not a date. Of course it wasn't a date. He didn't think about her that way anymore. She couldn't think about him that way either. Not her Barney anymore; Ellie's dad.

They drained their glasses in silence. Robin tipped her glass forward, tapping it against the side of the bottle.

Barney filled first her glass and then his. "Can I ask a quick question?"

"Sure."

"If I had, hypothetically speaking, asked you on a date-date, you would have said no, right?"

"No."

"That's what I thought." Barney pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes for the briefest of seconds. "So, you think Ted and Tracy are doing it in some airport bathroom right now, or fighting over who gets to call Virginia and Clint to check on the kids first?"

Robin reached across the table to lay a hand on Barney's sleeve. "Ask me again."

"Do you think Ted and Tracy-" He broke off as she closed her hand about his wrist.

"That's not the question I want you to ask me."

Three deep furrows crinkled his forehead, lines fanning out about his eyes as he regarded her with keen interest. "The only other question was about us going on a date, and we both know that's not going to happen."

"Barney." She let his name hang in the air, only long enough for the energy that prickled between them to overpower the hesitation that wanted to drag her out of the booth, out of the bar, back into her safe, solitary life where Barney Stinson could never break her heart again. "We don't know that."

The eyes he raised to her now were guarded, the purple shadows beneath them standing out against his fair skin. "Please don't make this into some kind of joke."

"I'm not. We did share a moment during the wedding, and it scared me. It scared me a lot, because it made me realize something." She closed her eyes and took three deep breaths before she could look at him again. "When you looked at me like that, it was like being right back there at our wedding."

"Was that a bad thing?"

Robin released Barney's sleeve and laced her fingers through his. "No. It wasn't. Ask me again. Not about Ted and Tracy."

"Okay. Robin Sherbatsky, would you like to go on a date with me?"

"Yes, I would."


	2. Chapter 2

"I'm sorry, you said you want us to take Ellie again tomorrow because you have a what?" James's turned off the faucet and braced both hands against the kitchen sink.

Barney set the latest dish in the drainer. "I have a date." He felt the crack of the wet towel on his face before he'd even notice James grabbing the towel from his shoulder.

"What the hell are you thinking? You are the single father of a newborn. Dating," James paused to make air quotes with his fingers. "Is what got you into this mess in the first place, so no, Tom and I will not watch your daughter while you go bang some barely legal bimbo. You're a father now. Act like one."

"I'm not banging any bimbos. I'm done with all that." Barney put a hand to his jaw, touching an experimental fingertip to the spot that stung from James's assault. No blood, but it would leave a mark. "The date is with Robin."

In that instant, James's expression turned from anger to curiosity, brown eyes going wide. "Robin-Robin? Your ex-wife, Robin? Robin Sherbatsky? Junior?"

Barney reached across the sink and turned the water back on. "Yes, Robin-Robin. We had a moment during the wedding, so I asked her to have a drink after. She asked me to ask her on a date, and I did. She said yes. Can you guys watch Ellie again tomorrow, or what?"

James chanced a glance at the back door. "Between you and me, Tom would say just leave her here and come back Sunday. I think he wants another one."

Even a few months ago, Barney would have said James and Tom could have the kid, free and clear. Sometimes it still seemed like the best option. Stable married couple versus single guy who didn't know what the hell he was doing; the choice should be obvious. Except Ellie was his. Only his. He owed her. "Let me guess. He has another one of those clients?"

James nodded. "He had to carry a six month old out of a drug dealer's apartment on Monday. Let's just say his arrival was not met with a warm welcome. Social work is an extreme sport, at least the way Tom does it." Admiration for his husband shone in James's eyes. "Some cases get to him. Can't say I blame him. I don't know if I could do half of that."

Barney took the wet plate James handed him and scrubbed it with the dish towel. "So that's why he had to conveniently take Ellie for one more walk around the neighborhood before I came to get her?"

"Pretty much. We weren't even done with breakfast before he had her in the sling. Trust me, any time you want to put that girl in his arms, he's fine with it. So, Robin again, huh? You know I need details."

Robin again. Barney liked the sound of that. He allowed himself the barest smile as he set one plain white dish in the drainer and accepted the next. "I didn't think Robin was even going to come to the wedding, but Tracy twisted her arm. I tried to play it cool, but," he shook his head, "It was crazy. Being in the same room with Robin, it was like nothing had ever happened and we could pick up exactly where we left off." He could have asked her that, he chided himself. Want to forget this whole divorce thing and be us again? She'd have gone for that. Maybe after the second scotch. Possibly the third. Unpause?

"After going through a divorce and you having a baby with somebody else? Kind of hard to ignore those little details. Careful with the mug. Sadie painted it herself, and if we lose any of those flower petals, there's going to be hell to pay."

Barney accepted the mug with all due caution, swiping the towel around the rim with surgical precision. "You mean you have to go back to the ceramics store so she can make another one." He turned the mug upside down to get beneath the handle. Delicate green vines twined around purple and white petals. "She's not half bad at this."

James flashed a smile of paternal pride. "Good, because you're getting one for your birthday. Ties, though, not flowers. Seriously, though. Divorce. Baby. Robin."

"I know. I knew from the first time Number Thirty One told me she was pregnant, that I'd probably lost my last chance with Robin. When the paternity tests proved Ellie was mine, I knew for sure that door was closed forever. That was the worst part, but," he set Sadie's mug aside, "Robin opened it. At least I think she did. She asked me to ask her on a date. That counts, doesn't it?"

"How exactly did Robin ask you to ask her on a date?"

Barney shrugged. "I pumped Lily for Robin information, in case we ended up alone together. Lily said Robin had a new dog, so I figured that was a safe topic of conversation. Maybe if we talked about getting a dog for Ellie, I could have an excuse to talk to Robin again. Visit shelters, buy dog stuff. She really loves dogs."

James chuckled. "I remember. Are you seriously adopting a dog for your infant daughter so you can talk to a girl one more time? You have it bad."

"I have it bad for Robin. I'm still in love with her. I don't know how she feels about me."

James turned off the water, upended the now-empty dishpan, and placed a brotherly arm about Barney's shoulder. "You go on that date on Saturday and find out. If she asked you to ask her out, odds are in your favor."

As if on cue, the back door swung open. Tom cradled Ellie in her gray flannel baby sling, his smile dimming at the sight of Barney. "Guess you'll be wanting Ellie back now."

Barney draped the dishtowel over the faucet and crossed to meet Tom at the door. "Afraid so. Watch her again on Saturday?"

"No problem. What's happening on Saturday?" Tom smoothed Ellie's white knit cap before lifting her from the sling and laying her in Barney's arms.

Barney planted a kiss on Ellie's forehead. She looked back up at him with clear blue eyes. "Miss me? I missed you." He did, in a way he had never expected he could. Number Thirty One didn't know what she was missing.

James answered for him. "He has a date."

Tom's lips pursed. "Is that really a good-"

"The date is with Robin," Barney added, positioning Ellie's head on his shoulder. "You're going to like Aunt Robin."


	3. Chapter 3

"Lily, I need you to meet me in dressing room number three in the special occasion section of Flayton's, no questions asked. Bring granny panties."

There was only a second of silence before Lily responded. "Do you need pads or tampons, too? Maybe some butterscotch?"

"Those are questions." The words came out quicker, sharper than Robin had intended. She closed her eyes and counted to ten. Once in English and once in French. "Just get here, okay? I know I've been a crappy friend lately, but I really need you now. Please come get me. Please."

"Marshall? I'm going out." Lily's voice cut through the chaos swirling through Robin's mind. "You hang in there, okay?. Do you want Marshall to stay on the phone with you until I get there?"

Heat flooded Robin's cheeks. "No. Don't tell him anything. Bring granny panties. The biggest, droopiest ones you can find, with elastic thick enough to hold up a baby elephant. I want to be able to pull those suckers up to my armpits."

"I'm on my way. You'll be okay, I promise."

"Okay," Robin echoed, then added, "hurry." She ended the call and dropped the phone back in her purse, then drew her knees up to her chin on the narrow bench of the dressing room. What the hell was she doing?

Two out of the four hooks on the wall held an assortment of dresses in a rainbow of black, red, blue and purple. One held Robin's sensible brown leather satchel, and the other remained empty. She fixed her sights on the empty hook, willing her breathing to slow.

A hesitant rap sounded on the dressing room door. "Ma'am? Are you all right in there?"

Robin drew in a cleansing breath and let it out as slow as she could. "Have you ever seen anyone have a panic attack?" she asked in the same voice she used to describe bullets and mortar fire.

There was a moment's hesitation before the answer came. "No."

"Okay, then this is your first, but it's not mine." She could do this in her sleep; distance herself from the calamity at hand and relate the facts so they made sense to somebody else even if she didn't understand, herself. "Can you get me a bottle of water?"

"Of course." There was a note of relief in the other woman's voice. Even in the most chaotic situation, specific tasks brought some degree of order. Still, no footsteps sounded. "Can I call someone for you? Do you need medical attention?"

Probably. "No. I've called a friend. She'll be here as soon as she can. I need to sit here and calm down. I could really use that water."

"Okay." This time, the footsteps clicked away from the door.

Robin leaned back against the plain white wall. Lily was on her way. Lily would bring granny panties and Robin would select a dress that didn't show them. She'd put them both on and have a civilized dinner with Barney. Friends. She had to think of them as friends. Date-date. The word, in his voice, echoed in her ears. It couldn't be that, couldn't ever be that. She couldn't take that chance, put herself in that much danger ever again.

Another knock sounded. "Ma'am? It's Susan. The floor manager. I have your water, and a paper bag in case you need to breathe into it." A flat paper bag, pale blue with the store logo emblazoned in silver, slid under the scant inch between door and carpet. "The bottle won't fit under the door."

No, of course it wouldn't. Robin heaved a sigh and grabbed her shirt from its hook, only buttoning the two buttons. She gave herself a mental smack. Susan probably saw more boobs in any given day than Barney on a good weekend. Barney. Fuck. And there, in a word, was the whole problem. She gave the black lace boyshorts beneath her skirt a tug. Lily. Granny panties. Only a matter of minutes now. She slid the lock on the door from closed to open.

The perky blonde twentysomething in an understated black sheath extended the water bottle before Robin could step back. Brown eyes rimmed by too much mascara regarded her with a mixture of concern and surprise. Glossy red lips formed a perfect O. "You're Robin Sherbatsky." Color rose in Susan's cheeks as she covered her mouth, too late to keep the words in.

Robin held a finger to her lips. "Hi, Susan. I can count on you for discretion, can't I, Susan?" She could see it all now; texts, tweets, Facebook. World Wide News correspondent has nervous breakdown in dressing room. She didn't need that. She had to give this girl a job, and fast.

Susan nodded. Her long blonde hair didn't move. "Yes, ma'am."

"Okay, Susan." The old Barney trick, of using the other person's name as often as possible, seemed to work. "I need a distraction, so you're going to put every one of those dresses on me and give me the whole sales pitch. Designer, price, fabric, the whole deal, got it?"

"Like on the wedding dress shows?"

Robin took a long drink of water. "Exactly." She set down the bottle on the bench and undid her buttons with shaking fingers. "Start with the sparkly red one."

Three dresses later, there was another knock on the door. "Robin?"

Susan's hand stilled on Robin's zipper.

Lily. "That's my friend. Can we have a minute?"

Susan opened the door with a polite smile and slipped out without a word.

Lily flew into the room, oversized tote bouncing against her hip. "Robin, sweetie! What happened? Is that hand beaded silk?" She skimmed a hand over the intricate bead work on Robin's sleeve.

"Did you bring them?"

"Right here." Lily dug in her purse and withdrew a brown paper bag. "One pair of granny panties, but I don't think they're going to work with that dress. What are you doing in the special occasion department?"

Robin's pulse fluttered. If only it were that easy. "It's your fault. I only went to the wedding because Tracy promised I wouldn't have to be alone with Barney. She said you'd make sure of it after she left." Anger burned in her gut. It was Lily's fault. It was.

"Crap. I knew I was forgetting something. Sweetie, I'm so sorry. There was the whole wedding and then the sitter called, and you both seemed fine. What happened?"

"You left me alone with Barney, that's what happened. I can't be around Barney, not ever. Especially not during a freaking wedding. When I'm around him, I'm all…" There were no words for all that he did to her. She turned in front of the mirror, the light catching on iridescent beads scattered over black silk. This one. She raised her hands in a helpless gesture. "This. Barney and I have a date. Tonight. A real date. He looked at me during Ted and Tracy's vows and I didn't look away and everything came flooding back. Then you left us alone and we had drinks and he wants to get a dog and I asked him to ask me out and he did and I tried to pretend it wasn't happening, but it is and I don't know what to do." The words rushed out of her, fast and urgent, all tumbling on top of each other.

Something Robin couldn't define flashed in Lily's eyes as she swept Robin with an assessing glance, head to foot and back again. "I am really really sorry I wasn't there for you at the wedding, but maybe this is for the best."

"How?"

"Because you're still in love with Barney. You asked me to bring you granny panties because, deep down, you know there is a chance Barney is going to see those panties, isn't there?"

Robin could only nod, mute.

"Sweetie, if you didn't care, you wouldn't care. Since you asked for granny panties, I can only assume you're wearing sexy panties right now. Describe them." She crossed her arms and waited for Robin's answer.

"Black lace."

Lily opened the bag and took out a shapeless pair of pale yellow cotton panties with thick elastic at waist and leg. "You can wear the sexy panties that you wore on purpose to buy a special dress for your date with Barney or you can wear the granny panties you asked me to bring you when you had a panic attack, but trust me, Barney is not going to care about your underwear."

"I know. What I wear isn't going to matter to him. We're divorced. He had a baby with another woman. Why do I do this to myself?"

Lily enfolded Robin in a comforting embrace. "I think you know the answer already."

She did.


	4. Chapter 4

"Okay, Sherbatsky. You can do this." Only one hour now, no more time to panic, no more time for indecision. She was going to have to make some difficult choices and make them fast. Lily was gone, the key to the liquor cabinet clutched in her hand. Two pale blue bags with the stylized F of the Flayton's logo hung from the back of the bathroom door. "One dress or the other. Both black tie. No bad choices."

It should have been easier than this. It all should have been easier than this, but it wasn't. For the fifth time since forcing herself out of a lavender scented bubble bath, one that did absolutely nothing to calm her nerves, Robin adjusted the tie on her white terrycloth robe and stared down the two sets of underwear laid out on the duvet cover. Black lace or yellow cotton. Boy shorts or granny panties.

"Alberta, what do you think?" Robin cast a glance at the small black and white mutt who regarded her with bright button eyes from her corduroy dog bed. A triple thump of her tail was Alberta's only answer. "You're no help, do you know that?"

Alberta crossed her paws and let out a contented whimper.

"I'm going out with Barney. You don't know Barney. We used to be married. That's like mates in dog terms. Before that, we were best friends. We were bros." There was a word she hadn't used in, God, how long had it been? Years. "That's, I don't know, pack members? Not everything translates, okay? Now I don't know what we are. He's the one who said black tie. That's like really fancy collar in dog fashion. You know, the pink one with all the rhinestones?"

Alberta rolled onto her back and wiggled her legs in a bid for Robin's full attention.

Robin turned from the bed and bent to plant one hand in the middle of Alberta's speckled belly for a good scratch. Two scractches, three, and she straightened again. "That's all you're getting until you help me figure this out. What I have to do in the next five minutes is pick one of those dresses," she pointed toward the two bags, as if Alberta would even care, "and I can't do that until I figure out what underwear comes first. There is no dog underwear, except for that really weird store on the lower East side that promise I am never taking you to again."

She could stall for a few more minutes. Worst case scenario, she'd still be standing here when the buzzer sounded and Abdul, the doorman, would announce her guest. Guest. As if Barney Stinson could ever be anybody's guest. They weren't strangers, no matter how hard either of them had tried to keep it that way. No matter how much she'd wanted to think that was ever going to be possible.

All it took was Ted's hand on her arm, guiding her to her spot at the altar, opposite Barney, as though there was nothing in the world wrong with positioning Robin opposite her ex-husband during a freaking wedding. During Ted's wedding. If ever there were a moment Robin could have literally died from humiliation, that was it, but that wasn't what happened.

His smile, that slightest of nods, and all the pain and confusion and loneliness of the last three years and change melted away. There was only him and only her, only them, together, the way it always should have been. The way it still could be? She didn't know. She didn't want to know. All she did know, she told herself as she made her way to the mirrored vanity opposite the bed and settled onto the padded stool, was that moments like that were the real reason she'd made Tracy promise, made her pinky swear over the phone that they wouldn't leave her alone with that man. He did things to her. Always did. Always would.

Alberta followed on silent feet, then flopped down at Robin's side. Her fuzzy chin rested on the top of Robin's bare foot.

If only all relationships could be that easy. She scratched Alberta once behind her sticky-up ear and set her mind on what she could control. She didn't need to think to make proper use of the bottles, jars, pots and powders arrayed on the polished wood top of the vanity. Fix her attention on her reflection in the lighted mirror, ignoring the giant red Velcro rollers that covered her head in three precise rows. "Hair comes last," she told Alberta, and unscrewed green handled mascara wand from pink tube. Open eyes, open mouth in wide O, like Susan from Flayton's. This, too, was a specific job in the midst of chaos.

You know I love you, right? Barney's look at her, that smile, that nod, said it clearer than any words ever could.

Yeah, I do. She hadn't been able to hold back her own smile then, couldn't turn off the memories that came flooding back. Standing at another altar, a lifetime and a second ago all at once, opposite Barney, surrounded by friends closer than family, that wasn't something she could forget easily. Couldn't forget at all, and she'd spent the better part of the last few years trying. Love you, too. Only it wasn't that easy anymore.

"What do you think, Alberta? Lashes?" Robin batted her lashes at Alberta, who answered with a single sharp bark. "Lashes it is." Applying false lashes would buy her a couple more minutes, but lips would depend on dress and dress depended on underwear, and underwear, well, that depended on her.

"I say no underwear at all." It was easy, too easy, to imagine Barney strolling out from a bathroom he'd never even seen, much less used, affixing cufflinks before sweeping black lace and yellow cotton alike from the bed. He'd accompany the gesture with a waggle of eyebrows, then come up behind her, place warm, strong hands on her shoulders and suggested blowing off the entire evening to stay home. Alone. Together. Naked.

Both lashes in place now, there wasn't any more time for stalling. "Crunch time, Alberta. You know, some dogs would have helped out their people by eating one of the choices. Lying down on one is good, too. Get dog hair all over one so there's no way I could wear it. Want to give any of that a try?"

Alberta's only answer was a swipe of pink tongue over the top of Robin's foot.

Robin pushed back from the vanity and settled on the floor next to Alberta. "Must be nice being a dog. Must be nice being fixed. I mean that pug in the off leash section of the park? Nothing? Nothing at all? I'm a person, and I can see it. He really knows his way around a tennis ball." She scooped Alberta into her lap. "Barney is like that pug. He's fun. He's gorgeous. He looks great in a sweater, though he's usually in a suit. One look, and I really, really, really want to play with him."

The wet nudge of Alberta's nose under her chin was all Robin needed to cut through the crap and admit the real reason choosing one pair of underpants took the entire day.

"Thing is, Barney has a puppy. A person puppy. She's real. We're going to see her next week, and I don't want to." Robin squeezed her eyes shut, silently commanding the tears not to come. Big girl panties, Sherbatsky, she ordered herself. She knew exactly which ones they were.


	5. Chapter 5

"Ms. Sherbatsky will be down in a moment, sir." The uniformed doorman's voice held the barest hint of an accent. Dubai, by way of London, unless Barney missed his guess. He rarely did. He'd need about five more minutes of steady conversation to pin down anything more specific. Give him ten, and he could pick out the guy's university and nearest major city. "If you'd like to take a seat, it will not be long."

Barney slipped his wallet from the pocket of his tuxedo jacket and withdrew a pair of fifties for a tip. "Thanks," he peered at the gold toned nametag pinned to the breast of the doorman's maroon wool jacket. "Abdul." Without stepping back from Abdul's stand, he scanned the lobby to pick out some detail that could drive the conversation further. "Is that ceiling medallion original? Doesn't quite match the molding, but it does agree."

White teeth flashed against brown skin. "Good eye, sir. You have an interest in architecture?"

Barney set an extra fifty on the stand. "I have a friend who does. Guess some of it rubbed off. You like this building, Abdul? This prewar stuff is good, or are you more of a steel and glass kind of guy?"

"Prewar is my favorite. Someday, I hope to design new buildings in that style. I am a student of architecture."

Ted would love this kid. Chances were, he already did. "Let me guess, Colombia?" At Abdul's nod, he continued. "Professor Mosby?" Got it in one.

"How did you know?"

"Told you I had a friend. Next time you see him, tell him Barney says you deserve extra credit."

Abdul nodded. "The university says he will not be in all week. It is not a bad reason, I hope?"

"Nah. Good one. He's on his honeymoon. He'll be in a better mood when he gets back." Barney's head turned at the metallic beep and the swoosh of the elevator doors. He had to force himself not to run. Robin. Instead, he counted the paces from stand to bench, crossed the black and white tiles one step at a time. Blood pounded in his ears.

For one endless second, Robin stood framed by the wrought iron scrollwork of the elevator doors. Light reflected from the hundreds of crystal beads scattered over the unbroken column of black silk that covered Robin from shoulder to ankle. One long leg, encased in the sheerest of black stockings, flashed from a high side slit with every step she took toward him on high black heels. Crimson lips tilted up at the corners at the sight of him, and he was lost, lost and drowning.

All at once, he was back at the end of the aisle in that church in Farhampton, heart in his throat as he watched her walk toward him on her father's arm. He was back by the bar at MacLaren's, catching his first glimpse of the girl in the green turtleneck, Ted's words still echoing in his soul. Hey, Barney, see that girl? I'm going to marry her someday. Barney had seen her then, and he saw her now. He was here, now, most of all, in this moment, finally able to admit the words he hadn't dared back then.

Barney hadn't known then where the thought came from, had dismissed it out of hand because romance and marriage were the farthest thing from his mind. Now, though, he didn't have anything left in him to deny the thought, the words or the truth of them anymore, and so they came, settled in his heart. Present Barney answered Past Ted at last. No, I am. Again, he added, to himself, and tugged at the hem of his jacket. "Wow." He had no other words.

Robin turned for him, a slow, deliberate circle, and breath left his body. As demure as the dress appeared in front, the rear view provided an entirely different picture. Instead of beaded silk, the dress had no back whatsoever, nothing but an unbroken swath of skin from neck to the small of her back.

"Double wow."

"You like?"

Barney allowed himself one lingering glance at her, head to foot and back again. "I like. I am honored. It's a little brisk out there for the, um," he passed a hand over his mouth and jaw, "the, ah, part of the dress that is not there behind you."

Robin extended the length of red satin draped over her arm. "I have a wrap. Help me put it on?"

He was by her side in an instant. They'd done this before, dozens, no, hundreds of times. Maybe a thousand. Not nearly enough. This couldn't be the last. He took the wrap from her, unfolded it to its full length and draped it about her shoulders. No kiss on her bare neck this time, no finger twined in one of the tendrils escaping from her upswept hair, not unless she asked for it. A shot of pure electricity shot up his arm from the brief brush of his fingertips against her spine. He took a step back. Down, boy. "We should get going, but before we do, in the interest of full disclosure, I did not pull a fabulous black tie evening out of thin air merely because you agreed to go out with me."

"Doesn't mean you can't," she returned with a tilt of her head.

"I had to go to this thing anyway. I mean, I was supposed to go, not that I was going to; do you know how many things 'I have a new baby' can get you out of?" As soon as the words left his mouth, his fingers itched to grab them back. "Sorry."

Robin dropped her gaze. Her lips pressed into a straight line. "No, I can't say that I do know that. Look, if you're having second thoughts, we can just call this off. We had a moment, and it passed. It happens."

"No. It doesn't. That moment did not pass for me, and I don't think it's going to. I didn't want to go to this thing tonight, but I do want to go with you. If you're there, then tonight will actually mean something. You know the guy I used to be better than anybody else, and it may be selfish, but I'd really like to be him again one more time."

Her hand settled on his shoulder and rubbed in slow, gentle circles. "You could have told me you were getting an award."

His head dipped. "I didn't want you to think this was all about me, because it's not. I meant it about what happened during the wedding. If it's a choice between going to some lame charity gala and spending time with you, I would rather spend time with you. I don't care if we sit on that bench and stare at Abdul all night. Wait, how did you know?"

"Barney." Her hand stilled. She regarded him from beneath lowered brows. "What do I do for a living?"

"Okay. You're right. I'm flattered that you did the research, but I didn't do anything. I wrote a check. They may as well give me an award for paying my electric bill." He slid a quick glance toward Abdul's stand. Good job of pretending not to look, kid. "Look, can I ask you to do something for me?"

Robin's hand slid from his shoulder, down his sleeve, until it rested by her side again. "Within reason."

"Can this night not be weird? Can we not be ex-spouses for the next few hours? You can be the hot bridesmaid I picked up at my best friend's wedding and I can be," he stopped there. He hadn't thought that far ahead. "I guess I'm still me."

"Still you is good." Robin held out her hand, fingers splayed. "Come on, nicely dressed groomsman who picked me up at my ex-boyfriend's wedding. It's almost cocktail hour."


	6. Chapter 6

Robin led Barney out into the cool of the late spring evening, that moment between daylight and dark that she'd thought once was magic. Maybe, she allowed, as Barney's hand twined with hers, comfortable and warm, it still could be. Relief and disappointment mingled at the sight of the waiting town car. It wasn't a cab. The uniformed driver opened the rear passenger door and stepped back. Robin slid into the seat, Barney close behind.

She breathed in the familiar scent of him, soaked in the heat of his body as he settled only inches from her on the padded seat. That custom blended cologne of his had clung to everything she owned for months after she'd moved out. She'd found comfort and torture both in its presence at the time, and opened herself to it now. Three weeks after she'd moved into her own apartment, she'd come home to find the blue striped oxford cloth shirt she'd stolen from him, washed and hung in her closet as though it was nothing more than just another shirt. Like it wasn't her last tangible link to him. She'd emptied a bottle of scotch that night and asked the cleaning service for a new housekeeper the next morning. That one wasn't going to work out.

"What?" Barney's voice encircled her and drew her back to the present.

"What what?" Robin's breath caught in her throat.

One blond brow lifted, one corner of his mouth quirked. Half amused, half curious, all Barney. "You're staring. Good stare, I hope? Because my second guess is 'wow, he got old.'"

Robin adjusted the drape of her skirt. "Yeah. No. Good stare. You don't look any different. Like not at all. Seriously. How's Ellie?"

"No Ellie tonight, okay?" he asked with a tight smile.

Robin cringed. "Sorry." She inched closer to the driver side door. It would only take a matter of seconds to make a break for it. Kick her shoes off, race back inside and breathe into a paper bag for an hour or two. For starters. She turned at the touch of Barney's hand on her arm.

"Hey. It's not too late to blow off this whole charity gala thing and go play laser tag instead."

Her stomach fluttered. "In this dress?"

"Ah, you're right. With all those beads reflecting the lights, it would end up being a massacre. Although that could be an incredibly strategic move, depending upon the opponents." Inspiration sparked in his eyes. The car pulled away from the curb and into the evening traffic.

She didn't even want to try and hold back her laugh. "No." This was her Barney. If he wanted to be the guy he used to be, she wanted to be the girl he wanted to be with, even if for only one night.

"Well, even if we aren't playing laser tag, which I am not giving up on, by the way, you one extremely deadly weapon in that dress."

Robin lay a hand on his sleeve. Her thumb brushed over soft wool, pausing for half a second on each of the three buttons on his cuff. Twice, the sweep of her thumb came within millimeters of moving from sleeve to skin. "Not looking so bad yourself, mister."

His smile, wide and genuine, lasted only half a second, but that was long enough. "This old thing? I've had it for years. Do not tell me you don't remember this tux. Marshall and Lily's anniversary party. Carly's wedding. That weekend at your mother's where the airline lost our luggage and this was all I had to wear for three straight days?"

She did remember the tux. Remembered helping him into it, and, even more clearly, helping him out of it on more than one occasion. Clothes weren't only clothes with Barney. He wore the history the same way he wore the garments themselves. Choosing this particular tuxedo for this particular date wasn't chance or coincidence. "Um, my mom offered to let you wear my dad's old flannel shirt." Stealing one of the ex's favorite shirts, it would seem, had become a Sherbatsky family tradition. "You said no."

White, green, red and amber lights washed over Barney's features as they moved through the city traffic, painting him in an ever changing palette. "I said no, thank you. That shirt was buffalo plaid and it smelled like gunpowder." He affected an exaggerated shudder. "It was also three sizes too big. How much did that man layer?"

"It was October in Canada. Everybody layers. I also seem to remember you didn't wear any clothes at any time from Saturday morning to Sunday morning." That, she remembered all too clearly, in vivid and erotic detail.

"Oh, you don't think I can wear nothing at all for twenty-four hours straight, do you?" Even now, she caught the indignance in his remembered words, the mischievous light in his eyes. "Challenge accepted." He'd done it, too, the idiot.

Robin held up two fingers. "Friday. Sunday. What day is in between those two? You only wore that tux for two days, and not in a row."

Barney frowned in mock offense, one hand splayed over his heart. "Hey. I wore a robe when we went down to breakfast. I had enough respect for your mother to do that. Any and all nudity was restricted to the privacy of our suite, and unless I misremember, a good time was indeed had by all." He punctuated the statement with a rakish grin, his voice low and intimate enough to make her heart skip.

Heat rose in her cheeks. He'd shucked out of the robe the second their bedroom door closed behind him and set the timer for twenty-four hours, to the minute. The time between, they'd found several creative ways to fill. "It was." She placed her hand, palm up, on the scant few inches of seat between them.

Barney placed his hand in hers. One finger stroked the empty space where her wedding ring used to be. "How is Genevieve?"

"As good as she can be. She's my mom. The new anti-anxiety meds seem to be working, but she still won't get on a plane, so I have to go to her. I'm going for Thanksgiving."

"Canadian Thanksgiving?" He followed that with a quick shake of his head. "Can you believe I still have to ask if it's Canadian or American when anybody mentions Thanksgiving? Guess you got to me more than I thought."

Robin gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "Guess I did." She lurched into him when the car came to a sudden stop.

The partition lowered. "Sorry, ma'am, sir. Traffic's tied up for the next few blocks. I can try a detour as soon as things get moving, or you can -" The wail of a siren drowned out the rest of his sentence. The car inched forward.

Robin lowered her window and craned her neck to get the best possible view. Flashing lights swept red and blue in the darkening sky. Moving bodies thronged about ambulance and two fire trucks, uniformed police officers guiding onlookers away. "Damn, that's in front of the Coronet. Channel six is here, channel eleven, no WWN. Can you get my phone from my purse?"

Within seconds, the phone was in her hand. Her blood pounded. She'd dreamed of opportunities like this when she'd first started, stumbling on a breaking story while going about her everyday life, and the thrill hadn't left her. She kept one eye on the scene before her while she called up her list of contacts, WWN at the top.

A few meters closer now, close enough that a uniformed officer gestured for the driver to lower his window. Her senses buzzed as the car crept forward and the officer approached.

"Angela!" Robin leaned out the window and waved the officer over.

The electronic beep of Barney's phone sounded. "You know the cop?"

"We go to the same gym. Angela! What's going on?"

Angela strode past the driver's window and approached Robin. "Slow news day if WWN is sending you here. No story here if you ask me. Kitchen fire's out, no casualties, but fire marshall says no gala tonight. Press area is over by the fountain."

The buzz faded to a dull hum. No story. Damn."I'm, um, not working. I'm on a date."

"So this is Greg? I've heard things about you, Greg."

"Thanks, but it's Barney."

Robin squeezed her eyes shut, as if that would shield her from the unbearable awkwardness of this moment. She couldn't look at either of them.

"Well, hi, then, Barney. If nobody's here for press, you need to keep moving. Got to clear this mess out." Angela moved back to the driver and repeated her instructions, then waved the car along.

"So," Barney asked, "who's Greg?"


	7. Chapter 7

"What happened back there?" Barney asked as soon as he caught up with Robin. The woman could have been a track star. Even with her in stilettos, he'd had to break into an all out run to keep up with her, weaving through the oncoming traffic until he caught up with her on the tree-lined park path. "Should I not have asked about," he paused, too afraid the mention of the other man's name would send Robin running again, "you know who?"

Robin swallowed and ran a shaking hand over her upswept hair. Fear glimmered in her eyes, her mouth going tight. "Greg. His name is Greg." Her skin flushed from the exertion of her run, bright spots of pink against skin gone pale. "I don't want to talk about him."

Barney knew this look, the wild animal in her that was perfectly willing to chew off its own leg to escape some real or perceived trap. Knew, as well, what he could do about it. He owed her that much. "Okay, you don't have to, but you do need to calm down. There's a bench over there by that big tree. We can sit for a while. You don't have to say anything if you don't want to, just be. I'm not leaving you out here by yourself."

"Just be," Robin repeated, slow and questioning, like she didn't understand the meaning of either word. Still, she nodded. Still, she let him take her hand in his and lead her to the bench, settling her there before he sat down beside her.

Barney draped an arm over the back of the bench, his hand close enough to hike her wrap back onto her shoulder. "I still owe you dinner," he said as soon as he was sure her breathing had begun to slow. "We could find a restaurant. Not Carmichael's, though."

"Smurf penis," Robin said with the barest of smiles. "I don't think they'd allow me back in there, anyway."

"Nah, we could show them Ted's wedding pictures if you really want to eat there. They have his photo by the host stand, so they'd know it was the same guy."

Robin cast him a sidelong glance through lowered lashes. "How do you know Ted's picture is posted at the host stand at Carmichael's?"

"I cannot reveal my sources."

"You mean you took a girl there."

He shoved his hands deep into his pockets. "I mean I picked up a girl there. Her blind date didn't show, and a kindly stranger, one to whom the bar manager owed a favor that I am too much of a gentleman to mention, oddly enough found himself in the same situation. He then offered to make the best of a bad situation, since they had both already planned to spend the evening with a complete stranger anyway."

"Classy," Robin said, in a tone that conveyed she thought it anything but. "Do I need to ask how the evening ended?"

Barney shook his head at the memory. "Catch and release. That woman was basically Girl Ted. Hopeless romantic, completely devastated, sure she was destined to be forever alone if some guy she didn't even know didn't want to have dinner with her. I couldn't Blue French Horn her. I bought her dinner, told her it was the guy's loss and put her in a cab home."

"You made a Blue French Horn play?" Robin's mouth tightened, slanting at only one corner. "That's low."

He tapped a finger to one temple. "Only in theory, never in practice. I'm not proud of it. The Playbook II tanked. That was right before I went off the rails, so to speak." He'd come up with the idea of a perfect month four shots later. "Sad, huh?" Sad and desperate.

There was a moment of heavy silence before Robin turned to face him. "Greg was my boyfriend."

"I had inferred that. Was it serious?"

She brushed a loose lock of hair out of her face and tucked it behind her ear. "He thought it was. It's over now."

"You jumped out of the car and ran when I asked about him. Did things end badly? Do you want him," he made air quotes, "taken care of?"

The tightness about Robin's mouth and jaw softened. "Because you know a guy who can do that?"

"I know a lot of guys who can do a lot of things. Plumbers, accountants, baristas, bartenders, you name it. I hate the thought of somebody hurting you." Somebody else, a voice in the back of his head added. She wouldn't have been in the position to be hurt by this Greg person if Barney hadn't hurt her first. If he had any say in the matter, he'd make sure he was the last man to ever break her heart. It was his fault, all of it.

Robin blinked in a rapid, fluttering movement, her head tipped back. He knew that tactic, too. Robin Sherbatsky was not going to cry in public. "I'm okay," she said when he handed over his pocket square. She dabbed at her eyes and crumpled the mascara-smeared linen in her hand. "I left him. We weren't right for each other."

"So why did you run?"

"Because I thought," she paused there, glanced away from him and shifted her feet. "I thought it would make a difference."

"What, that you had a boyfriend?"

Robin answered with a tilt of her head.

"That, Sherbatsky, is the most ridiculous thing I have heard tonight, and this is coming from the man who got a text message that the gala is postponed because some prep cook set a dishtowel on fire. Article One of the Ex Code states that the ex who has a baby is not allowed to take offense at any past romantic partners of the other ex. True story."

"There's an Ex Code?" Robin twisted the tip of the pocket square and dabbed at the corner of one eye. "That's article one?"

Barney scuffed one foot in the dirt. "I made it up when you bolted. Seriously, you're smart, funny, gorgeous, and single. You can date anybody you want. The Gregs of the world are going to happen. Besides, you're on a date with me now. This is still a date, isn't it?"

Robin set the wadded linen on the bench between them and dug in her purse for her compact mirror. She flipped it open and closed one eye, then pressed a fingertip to the root of her lashes. "I'd like it to be." She lifted her finger and blinked again.

"Here, let me. Did you bring glue?"

She pinched a tiny white tube between two fingers and extended it to him. "Do you remember how?"

"Please. I could do this in my sleep." Had done it in his dreams, more times than he'd care to admit. "Eyes up and hold still." He squeezed out a miniscule drop of eyelash glue onto the tip of his finger and tipped her chin upward with his other hand. "Almost there." He applied the glue to the loose end of the lash at the outside of her eyelid. His touch lingered. One one thousand, two one thousand.

"Barney?"

"Yeah?"

Her breath caught. "You don't have to press it. It dries on its own."

"I know that."

"So are you going to kiss me or what?"


	8. Chapter 8

Pure wonderment blanked Barney's features. A muscle ticked in his jaw. "You want me to kiss you?" Each word came out on its own, quiet and distinct. His hand quivered as he cupped her cheek, staring at her as if he weren't quite sure she was really there. As if she might vanish into the ether if he broke contact.

In that moment, she wasn't certain of it herself. This hour was magic, a unique moment cut out of time and space, apart from the stark emptiness of the last three years. Almost four. "I do." She'd said those words to him once, in another life. He'd said them back, and she'd known; not thought, known, down to the marrow of her bones, that her life would never be the same again, because he was in it. That same certainty, that knowing, settled upon her now.

"Okay, then." Blue eyes darkened. "I am going to kiss you." He didn't move.

Pinpricks of anticipation danced along Robin's spine. She held still as stone, her breath shallow. The wrap fell from her shoulders, her back bared to the cool night air. "Any time now."

His throat worked. The tips of his ears pinkened. "Don't rush me, okay?"

"Did you forget how?"

Pink flushed to scarlet. "I could never forget anything about being with you. I'm thinking."

She steeled herself to pull back from him. "If you have to think about it, if you don't want to-"

"I want to." The words leapt from him with a life of their own. "I was thinking that it's been almost four years since the last time I kissed you. I thought that was the last time I ever could. If I get this wrong, I'm scared there won't be another chance. I have to do it right."

"You're an idiot." With that, her arms snaked about his neck, her mouth slanted over his. He tasted of peppermint, cool and clean, underscored with the faintest hint of scotch. Her blood pounded at the familiar warmth of his hand on the bare skin of her back. Argentina. They hadn't done this since the hotel room in Argentina. They'd devoured each other with a frantic urgency then, both knowing it would be the last time. Each touch, each kiss was a plea and a penance. Justification. Apology. Parting words when there were no words that would bandage the wound, forever raw and bleeding.

This, kiss, though, this was different. This was a first kiss, guarded and uncertain. His lips pressed hers, questing, confessing, innocent and arousing all at once. His hands shaped themselves to her, molded to head and hip. Drew her closer to him, held her firm. The ping of one fallen hairpin, then another, registered at the edge of her consciousness as each hit the metal arm of the bench. She didn't care. She clutched at him, both hands tilting his head so that she could have more of him. As if she could ever, ever have enough.

"OhmyGodRobin."

Robin felt Barney's voice more than she heard it, carried on the warm rush of his breath on her skin. Each syllable bled into the others. They all hovered around her, reverent as a prayer, before the single word those syllables had become settled in her ear and burrowed its way past the fear that even now scratched at the edges of her consciousness. Another exhalation ruffled a lock of loosened hair and sent a shiver down to her very core. She had no words for this. No words at all.

His hand trembled in her hair. Another pin fell. He set himself back from her, his gaze assessing and intent. "Okay so far?"

"More than okay," she answered and reached out to wipe a smear of crimson from his lower lip. "You'll notice I'm not running this time."

"I had noticed that. Thank you."

Robin shouldn't have laughed at that, but there was no way around it. Barney Stinson thanking a woman for not running away from him, his earnest tone and grave expression negated by the traces of lipstick she'd missed on his first pass. The white of the pocket square stood out in contrast to the black of her dress and his tux. She plucked it from the bench and found a clean spot. "Your turn to hold still. Scarlet Siren is not your color."

"I think I could get used to it. I would like to get used to it." He stilled when the linen touched his skin.

She swiped at the smudge of red that clung to the cupid's bow of his upper lip, then traced the curve of his chin merely because she'd missed it. "I think I owe you a handkerchief. Not sure all of this stuff is going to come out; mascara, lipstick, glue."

"I don't care about the pocket square. I care about you. Even after everything we've been through, you know that, right?"

Robin rolled the ruined cloth between her fingers. Black smeared on red. She turned it to a clean patch and scrubbed her fingertips "That's a high compliment to give a girl, putting me before, what is this, Irish linen?"

Barney's head inclined by the slightest degree. "Woven by hand on a two hundred year old loom, and the hems stitched by visually impaired retired nuns. You're better than that any day. He died for a noble cause."

"Do we need to bury him with honor? Fold him like a flag and lay him to rest in his original box in your mom's backyard? Maybe a Viking funeral in the duck pond? We could put him on a paper boat and set it on fire." She couldn't stop the words from coming, her tone too light for what they'd done together only moments before. This was part of them, the crazy schemes, the easy banter she'd never been able to have with anybody else. Her heart skipped. If Barney picked up on her lead, if he followed it, that would be a sign from the universe. If he didn't…she stopped herself there. She didn't want to think about that. "What's his name? Seamus? He looks like a Seamus. He's Irish, right?

"I don't name my clothes anymore. That's kid stuff. We all have to grow up sometime." His shoulders rolled in a shrug far too studied to be genuine.

"Now you're scaring me. You have to name this handkerchief."

He scrubbed one hand over his mouth and chin. "It's a pocket square. Pocket squares don't have names."

Robin frowned at him. The tight set of his jaw didn't ease. She unfolded the square and smoothed it over her knee. "This one does. He's Seamus. If we're going to be us tonight, the way we used to be, then we have to give Seamus a proper funeral."

Barney lifted his gaze to meet hers. "Traditional funeral ale and feasting to follow? Challenge accepted."


	9. Chapter 9

"I think we lost him." Robin glanced back over her shoulder to the wrought iron streetlights that flanked the park exit. Her pulse pounded, blood pumped with the exhilaration of their headlong dash over the bridge that arched over the duck pond. No flashlight cut through the dark, no footsteps pounded the cement. They were alone beneath the streetlights, their only company the food truck parked at the corner.

Barney's hand tightened around hers. "That. Was. Awesome. No way is that cop going to pass his next physical if you and I could outrun him like that. Seriously, how do you run in those heels?"

Robin drank in the splendor that was Barney at his finest. His skin flushed with excitement beneath the sheen of sweat that beaded his brow. Blue eyes shone bright, mischief radiating from every pore of him. "I was highly motivated." That much was true. Barney's whispered 'want to run for it?' had fired her blood. His hand slid into hers, and they were off, two bodies moving as one. She'd have gone anywhere with him in that moment. Anywhere.

Barney answered with a dry chuckle. "You mean you jumped a mile when Seamus's pyre exploded."

She couldn't deny that. They'd both jumped into each other's arms when the paper boat ignited, shooting orange flame and green sparks into the night sky. "I seem to remember hearing a high pitched, girlish scream."

"That was not a scream. That was a warning. Did you see how high those sparks went? No, you did not, because I distinctly remember somebody's face burying itself in my shirtfront."

He had her there. She'd clung to him from pure instinct, drawn strength from the beating of his heart. "Who were you warning? The ducks? Stray dogs?"

"Hey, it summoned the proper authorities, didn't it? Seamus would have wanted it that way. He was all about cleaning up messes, if you'll recall. Speaking of which, how about that traditional funeral ale? You pick the bar."

Robin shook her head. She'd lost the last of her hairpins somewhere during their flight. Loose hair fell about her face and neck, to brush the tops of her shoulders. "No bar."

"No bar?" Barney pressed the back of his hand to Robin's forehead. "You don't feel feverish. What gives?"

She swatted his hand away, the gesture softened by her lingering touch. "I don't want to go anywhere, okay? This is nice the way it is. You. Me." She cast a glance at the stoop of the nearest brownstone. No lights in the windows. Either the tenants weren't home or had already gone to bed. They wouldn't mind if she sat for a minute. She tugged at Barney's sleeve, urging him to come with her. "Isn't tonight about just us anyway?"

"Us and Seamus, but we pretty much covered his entire life in the eulogy already. He'd have been touched to know he made such a strong impression on you in such a short acquaintance."

"Stinson boys do tend to do that." Robin kicked off both shoes and set them side by side next to her on the step. "Looks like we may need to have another funeral." Her big toe poked through a large hole in the sheer black stocking. A long run stretched from heel to knee. No saving this one. She stretched her leg out in front of her and reached beneath the slit in her skirt to roll the stocking down and off.

Barney's breath caught. "You sure you want to do that here on a public street?" Before she could answer, he'd shucked off his topcoat and held it in front of her like a curtain. "Okay, now you're good."

Robin stripped off both stockings, wadded them and stuffed them in her purse, then sighed with relief. "Done." She stretched out both legs and wiggled red-painted toes.

The coat curtain dropped. Barney aimed a roguish grin at her, one brow cocked. "Backless dress, tumbled hair, bare legs, fresh pedicure. Ms. Sherbatsky, you're trying to seduce me."

"No." She ducked her head with that single word, her voice too high, ending in a sound halfway between a giggle and a snort. Okay, maybe. "Is it working?" She peered at him through the curtain of her hair, and arranged her skirt to cover both legs.

"You have no idea how well." He regarded her for a long moment, the silence between them taking on a life of its own. They'd never needed words, her and Barney. At last, he draped his coat over her knees and spread it down over her legs. "Time for that funeral ale and feasting. I'll be right back." He set off toward the food truck, his posture straight, shoulders squared.

She drew her knees up and smoothed the coat over them, the lining smooth and warm on her bare legs. He'd be back. The thought draped itself around her, in calm reassurance. She watched him approach the truck, consider the menu and extract a single bill from his wallet. She'd always hated it when other dates ordered for her, but this wasn't another date. This was Barney. Barney didn't assume. Barney knew, because Barney knew her. Usually better than she knew herself. With him, she was content to wait, content to watch. She flexed her bare toes on the edge of the stone step and tucked her hair behind her ears.

He accepted a cardboard tray from the window and started back toward her, his steps even and quick. Two brown bottles dangled from one hand. "They didn't have anything even remotely alcoholic, so we're going to have to remember Seamus with a fine root beer. I didn't know if you wanted regular or diet, so I got both." He set down the tray next to her and took his own seat on the other side. The scents of cooked meat, fried potatoes and chili reminded Robin how long it had been since she'd eaten last. "Lady's choice."

"Diet, thanks. I worked on a story last year about a possible link between artificial sweeteners and testicular cancer. You don't want to know the findings."

"Probably not." He offered the bottle opener from his keychain, opening first Robin's bottle and then his. "Looking out for my junk like that, there's the mark of a true bro. How can I ever thank you?"

Robin pointed toward the pile of chili fries in their red and white cardboard boat. "Always happy to do my part in protecting a national treasure. I'll take that big fry with all the cheese on it. The women of New York can thank me later. "

He turned the tray to give her better access. "More like the historical preservation society. Believe it or not, this is my first date in months. You don't want to know how many."

She could guess, though. She popped the fry into her mouth and wiped the excess cheese from her lower lip. "That is not the old Barney I know."

"No, it is not. The old Barney is just Old Barney these days." He shook his head, the implication clear, and took a long drink. "I really am too old for that stuff." One bite of hot dog and a pass of paper napkin over his mouth, then, "As a matter of fact, I am so far off my game, I was scouted by the other team last week. True story."

Robin coughed on a mouthful of chili. "No way."

"Way."

"How did the guy not know you like girls?"

Barney's gaze dropped, then rose to hold hers. "I like one girl."

"Right. Ellie." Damn. "Sorry."

"If we're counting her, I like two girls." The echo of his words, and the meaning behind them, hung heavy in the air.

Heat crept up Robin's skin, climbing from neck to face. The tips of her ears burned.

"You have to promise me one thing. Promise me it's not going to be another four years before we have another awesome night like this."

Cold, nagging dread grabbed her ribcage and rattled it from the inside. She put on a game smile. "As long as you can get a sitter, I'm there. Besides, you're still coming to the adoption event next Sunday, right?"


	10. Chapter 10

"Of course we'll be there. It's a park full of puppies. Who's going to miss out on that? Hell, I'd be there even if I didn't have-" Barney stopped himself. Do not screw this up. He selected an especially long, especially chili-laden fry and stuffed it in his mouth. Chew, swallow, wipe mouth with paper napkin that was not even in the same league with the late, lamented Seamus, and the right words would come. "Plans to be there already. Seriously wouldn't miss it. Puppies are great. Somebody should find a way to bottle puppy breath. They'd make a fortune. Who doesn't love puppies?" Yeah, say 'puppies' a few dozen more times. That doesn't sound desperate.

"They'll have older dogs,too," Robin said after a sip of her root beer. "Puppies almost always find homes. They're little, they're cute, they're fuzzy, and they don't have a clue what's going on. It's the adults who need the extra help. They look all confused, wondering where their people went or what they're doing in the shelter. I can actually see that 'is anybody ever going to love me again?' look in their eyes, that 'is it my fault I'm here? What did I do?' and 'I'll be good, I promise, just love me,' and I want to take them all home."

Barney knew that feeling. He'd had it. Still had it. Sitting on the end of the bed in that hotel room in Argentina, drunkenly assuring Robin that they'd be okay, they'd get through this, when the this in question was the divorce he'd agreed to give her. Asking the lawyer-who-was-not-Marshall to draw up the papers. Clicking the cheap plastic pen sixteen times before signing his name. Number Thirty One's voice, bitter and tight, spitting out the two words that brought his world crashing down. The look on Number Thirty One's face when she signed her name without hesitation and told him and his lawyer to get out of her hospital room. He knew that feeling. "Nah, older dogs are awesome. A lifetime of love in a fur coat. How could anybody give up on that?"

"You'd be surprised. I gave up five of them, remember?" Her eyes narrowed, her brows pinched.

He did remember, and all too well. Out of reawakened habit, he rested one hand on Robin's knee. Skin on skin, the temptation to slip even one finger to the back of her knee was too great. She didn't pull away. "I wish I'd been able to talk you out of that." He'd tried everything he knew at the time. Righteous outrage, threatening to shun Ted like an Amish sinner, making Robin look into five pairs of big brown eyes, talking through the dogs. Everything, up to and including offering to take the dogs himself. He'd move if he had to, and he would have, if that would have put Robin's broken heart back together. In the end, all he'd been able to do was help her get everyone in the car and hold her while she sobbed her guts out at every rest stop on the way back.

"So do I," she said after a bite of hot dog. "Especially considering the prize was Ted." They both shared a sad laugh at that. Her hand covered his, her tone firm. "Don't beat yourself up, especially after all this time. It wasn't your call. That's all on me."

It was. He could see it, in the shadows that had nothing to do with the play of the streetlights on her face. Time didn't make the loss any easier. It never did. "Trying to atone for past mistakes with the rescue work now?"

Robin dipped her head. "Maybe a little. I visited them as much as I could, but it was never the same. My aunt and her partner loved them, but those dogs always looked like their hearts were breaking whenever I got ready to leave. I guess I'd hoped they'd forget me, but they didn't."

Barney worked the edge of one nail under the corner of the label on his bottle. "I know how they feel. Felt. I know the feeling."

"Are you talking about our divorce? I know we said we weren't going to be exes tonight, but…." She let the sentence dangle, her lower lip raised, waiting for his answer. She wasn't going to let him wiggle out of this one.

Barney peeled half the label off in one jagged swath. "No. Yes. Maybe. A little. Why? Did you want to talk about," He rolled the torn label between his fingers, into a tight ball, "that? I mean, we could, if you wanted. I," Come on, think of something. No time for the yips here. He aimed the paper ball at the trash can by the curb. It bounced off the rim and into the dark. Okay. That was something. "I've been thinking for a while about things I'd given up on that I wished I hadn't. I used to love playing the violin, and then one day, I just stopped. I miss that. I didn't know I missed it, and I know it's too late for me, but maybe because I wrote a check, some other kid won't leave something they love behind to become a corporate drone."

Robin's hand closed around his, her nails sharp on his wrist. "Hey. Barney Stinson is not a corporate drone. Don't say that about yourself."

"Maybe I wasn't when we were together, but I am now. At least with GNB, there was a bigger purpose. Lead the scum of the earth down the primrose path, turn over all their secrets to the guys with the badges and know it would all come tumbling down in the end. That made it worth going in every day and doing all the other stuff. Now the other stuff is all that I do. I talk big corporations into giving money to other big corporations. Then I go home and I," Dammit, he didn't have anything else. Work and Ellie were his entire life now. "I go home."

Robin delivered a soft kick to his shin. "What about Ted and Tracy and Marshall and Lily? You see those guys, right?"

Barney rubbed at the torn edge of the root beer label. Glue spot; this part wouldn't budge. He pushed at it with his thumbnail. Small headway, but he'd take it. "The wedding was the first time all five of us," he didn't miss the flicker of pain in Robin's eyes, the way those insanely thick lashes of hers tried to cover it, "the six of us, I mean, were in the same place at the same time in I couldn't tell you how long. Everybody has kids," Fuck. Everybody but Robin, asshole. Nice going. The glue spot came free. "Sorry."

"No, don't be." Her voice came tight through lips gone pale. "You guys all have kids. That's a fact."

Barney set the bottle down. "That's not how I meant it. I'm not that into hanging with happily married couples these days. It sucks. All the looks, the touches, the-"

"Finishing each other's sentences," they both said at once.

Robin broke the silence that followed. "Okay, that was weird. I get it, though. It sucks. That's why I had to get some distance. I didn't mean to stay away this long." She took another drink, nursing the bottle as though it held something stronger than root beer. "No, I did, but not the way it sounds. It's self preservation. Two happy couples, both popping out kids left and right. That's too much for this divorced and infertile chick. Even you have a baby." Her hands curled into fists, her nostrils flared. "Dammit. I mean, sorry."

"No, you meant dammit. I know you, Sherbatsky." He fished the phone from his pocket and checked the time, then turned the display to face her. "See? Two minutes after midnight. It's not tonight anymore, it's tomorrow. You can say it. I have a baby."

"You have a baby." She repeated the words the same way she would read words on a teleprompter. Her mouth went tight. Her lashes lowered.

He reached for her again, fingers brushing beaded silk. "I have to know one thing before this goes any further. Is my having Ellie going to be a dealbreaker for you and me?"


	11. Chapter 11

Barney's question hit Robin like a punch to the gut. His coat slid from her legs to pool on the step below. She grabbed for the coat, then draped it over her knees once again, the lining cool now against her skin. It wasn't the same. "I can't answer that right now." She worried her lower lip between her teeth. "You have a baby and I'm not her mother." Do you even have any idea how much that hurts? That question, she bit back. He wasn't ready to hear that from her now, maybe never would be. She sure as hell wasn't ready to say it. "Some stranger whose name you don't even use in conversation had a part of you growing inside her in a way that I never could. Never can. That's a lot to process."

"I know it is." Barney scuffed one shoe against the stone step. "I screwed up, Robin. I screwed up bad. I never should have agreed to the divorce. I never should have filed the papers. I never should have signed them. I sure as hell never should have tried going back to being the guy I was before I knew you."

Breath sagged from Robin's lungs. She retrieved the wrap that had fallen behind her and draped it over her shoulders. She didn't ask for his help this time, only pressed a knuckle to the corner of one eye and grabbed for the nearest paper napkin.

Seamus, you left us far too soon. "When I thought I couldn't possibly hurt you any more than I already had, I found a new way to do exactly that. There's no way I can expect you to forgive me for any of those things, let alone ask for another chance, but I do still love you. I am still in love with you. I always will be."

Robin's equilibrium failed her. She grasped the edge of the stone step with both hands and leaned against the steady support of the railing. To hear Barney actually say those words, see him look at her that way, the same way he had at the wedding, at both weddings; that was more than she was prepared to take. This was Barney, real Barney. Her Barney, raw and pure and vulnerable, his heart on a platter for her to do with as she would. One foot spasmed, the urge to run overruled by her desire to hold onto as much of his presence as she could.

"Would you please say something? If we can't happen anymore," he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I get that."

"Barney." His name came easily enough. It belonged on her tongue, every day. He looked up at that, brows lifted at the inner corners, the lines about his mouth deep and straight. Only the barest shadow of beard showed beneath his fair skin, a sure sign of a straight razor shave. This evening meant more to him than he was willing to say in words. That wasn't his way. This was. The tux he didn't wear in Vancouver. A Viking funeral for a pocket square. Hot dogs on a stranger's stoop. Robin forced the words past the lump in her throat. "I still love you."

He bloomed at her confession, hope lighting in his eyes for only a second before it dimmed. "But you don't know if you can love Ellie."

"I don't even know her." I don't know if I want to. But she'd have to, to be with Barney. She knew that, the fact of the matter plain as black on white. "She's a part of you, right? How can I not want a part of you?"

"Because the other part is some bimbo I picked up when I remembered August has thirty one days."

There it was. "I am a horrible, horrible person." Robin dropped her face into her hands.

In a flash, Barney's arm settled about her shoulders. "No. No, you're not."

She tipped her head back and blinked. Pushed her hair out of her eyes. Drew air deep into her lungs before she could even look at him. "I'm mad at a baby for existing. How is that not horrible?"

"You're not the only one ever to be in that position." His head dropped, eyes focused on his hands. Two fingers of his right hand worried at his naked ring finger. "I never planned on having kids in the first place, especially not as a single father in my forties. That was never part of the plan. By the time Ellie is ready for college, she'll be the one changing my diapers. How is that even fair to her?"

"That's not going to happen." That lost look that came over him, that would be the end of her. "You'll hire some hot nurse whose bra size is bigger than her IQ to do that."

Barney's hands unclenched. He looked up. "I don't think people with double digit IQs get to be nurses, and I will thank you not to be sexist. Not all nurses are female, you know. Felipe in pediatrics is a godsend."

A lump rose in her throat. Tell him to go, the fear urged her. She could shut this down now, send him out of her life forever, for good this time, but a life without him in it, that couldn't be good at all. "You love Ellie." All she could manage was a hoarse whisper. It was enough.

"I do." Those words again, plain and heartfelt. "I also love you. I hope you can see that, too."

Her head dipped once. She did, and the pain of exactly how much tore at her. "If it were only you and me, knowing what to do would be easy. Putting another person into the equation, especially a really tiny person, that," she ran her tongue over her lower lip, "that complicates things."

"What," Barney's thumb swept over his ring finger once before he shoved both hands in his pockets, "would you do if it were only the two of us?"

Take you home and never let you go again was the first thing that came to mind, but she couldn't say it. "I think you know the answer to that."

"I know what I'd like it to be." That lopsided smile, the lift of one brow, had her almost undone. Almost. This was why she hadn't wanted to be alone with him. Why she shouldn't be. Why she had to be. Barney moved the cardboard box with their food to the next step up and closed the space between them, his leg pressing against hers. "If you tell me to walk away now, I will. At least I'll know I tried."

Barney Stinson always gets the yes. Once upon a time, he'd have declared that, she'd have laughed, and the only question they'd have to settle was her place or his. "You don't have to try."

"Yes," he said, "I do. Letting you down the way I did is one of the greatest regrets of my life. The greatest. I'm not sorry Ellie exists, but I am sorry she isn't yours."

Time stopped. The ground shifted. The streetlights swirled and blurred. Robin clutched the wrap around her shoulders so tightly that the beads dug into her flesh. "What are you saying?" She couldn't have heard him right. He couldn't have said what she thought.

"I'm saying I wish Ellie was yours. I pretended she was, the first couple of days I had her home." His gaze held her, steady and direct. "That was the only way I could keep it together, by telling myself you were in the next room. Taking a nap. At work. On assignment. Visting family in Canada. I know, lame, but that's what I had to do to get through it. Thought I should be honest about that."

Robin picked up her bottle. Empty. She tipped it to her mouth anyway. She needed the time more than she needed the drink. "I'm not anybody's mother."

"I know. I'm not asking you to be, but Ellie is a part of my life, and that's not likely to change. I'm asking you," His keys jingled in his pocket. "I'm asking you to go out with me again. I can't promise any Viking funerals next time, and I do have a baby and I am probably the last person on earth you should even consider getting involved with, but I am still asking."


	12. Chapter 12

Robin's legs crossed and uncrossed under the drape of Barney's coat. This was midnight at MacLaren's all over again, waiting for her to come through that door. He'd done his part, hard as it was. Her turn now. She smoothed the coat so it fell straight from knee to ankle. Turned one foot and examined the polish on her toes. "I already am. Sunday, remember? Park full of puppies?"

"That's not a date-date. You're working. I'm bringing Ellie. You're probably bringing your dog. Alberta, right?" He waited for Robin's nod. "I mean a time when you and I can focus on each other. Four years is a long time not to be in each other's lives. Don't you think we need to get to know who we each are now?" He studied her in her silence, the way she fingered one button on his coat, her finger circling its rim in counterclockwise motion.

Her brow furrowed. Her jaw thrust forward even as her gaze dropped. She reached for her shoes, then put them back. "Why do you have to make so much sense?"

"It's a blessing and a curse. So, is that a yes to a second date?"

"It's a yes."

"Awesome. How are we going to do this?" Barney rubbed at the back of his neck. "You've got work, and I need to find someone to watch Ellie."

Robin opened her purse and took out her phone. The image of a wiry-haired black and white mutt with one floppy ear filled the screen. "I'm on air Friday night, so that's out. Alberta and I are both spending all day at the groomers on Saturday. Your turn."

"My mom could take Ellie on Mon—scratch that. Women's Bible study at Sam's church is Mondays now, but that does mean she's available on Wednesdays."

Robin made a show of tugging at her ear. "I'm sorry, that sounded like you said your mother was attending a Bible study."

"Running it, actually. Long story. She and Sam are really happy. They're good for each other." If forty years apart didn't put out that fire, four years was nothing. "How's Wednesday night for you?"

"Working. Thursday, too. Tuesday?"

Barney scrolled back in his calendar. "Teleconference with the Swedes. Damn."

"Who watches Ellie during the day?"

He thumbed the screen and scrolled to the next week. "She's in company daycare. I drop her off in the morning and check in at lunch. There's a monitor that connects directly to my office, and the staff gives regular updates. Sweet deal."

"So maybe we could do lunch?"

Barney leaned in and kissed Robin full on the mouth, her lips soft and pliant. "You are a genius." Lunch was perfect. No pressure, out in public, in the middle of the day and they'd both be expected back at work after. "Do we want to rule out the already booked days ourselves or let our assistants wrangle this one?"

Robin reacted with a visible shudder. "The less Patrice knows about my personal life, the better."

She had a point. "Sneaking around already? I like where this is going. List me as a contact from Harmon Coulter and nobody has to know anything." He called up his list of contacts. "Sending you my new work contacts now." He craned his neck to get a better view of Robin's screen. The alert for his message flashed.

"You're at Harmon Coulter now? You really are a corporate drone." Robin opened the message and tapped to save the information.

"Told you. I've had more exciting jobs, but the benefits are awesome. I have to think about Ellie now. Where's Alberta all day?"

Robin's expression softened at the mention of the dog's name. "Doggy daycare. It's a couple blocks over from the WWN building, and they do not provide a monitor, but I can check on the website."

"Sure it's not the same place? Let the kids play with the dogs, maybe share some toys, possibly the same snacks. Cost effective and promotes a healthy pet/child relationship from an early age. Harmon Coulter should look into that. That way, if future dates go well, we can drop off Ellie and Alberta in the same place." He loaded his voice with enough humor that he could claim he was joking if he needed to. That all depended on how she took it. He planted one hand on his knee to stop it from bouncing.

Her laugh calmed him. "Not getting ahead of yourself there at all, are you?" The angle of her mouth, the way her eyes crinkled, rushed a liquid warmth through his veins. Even the finest scotch couldn't beat that. "How about Monday?"

He checked his screen. "Nope. Parnters meeting. I'll be working straight through lunch and possibly dinner. Tuesday?"

Robin scowled. "Would you believe Big Daddy Beezy is surprisingly passionate about literacy among at risk youths? Tuesday noon is the only time WWN can get an exclusive, and we have to provide him with vegan barbecue."

Barney flinched at the mere mention. "Ouch. I promise I will give you meat on our date." He replayed the words and flashed an apologetic grin. "That came out wrong. Beef. Pork." Even worse. "I will provide you with food that had a face and a mother. Tell Sean I said hi."

"Wait, you know Big Daddy Beezy? You called him Sean?"

"Yeah. We're talking Sean Cutler, right? Big guy with baroque tattoos? We were on the fundraising committee for the Keep Arts in School foundation. You know, where we did not end up going tonight? Don't let him guilt you about eating meat, because he's going to try."

Robin raised one brow. "There's a story there. Wednesday?"

"Wednesday looks," he frowned at the screen. "Nope, spoke too soon. Pediatrician. Regular visit, no big deal. Thursday?" His pulse skipped. At this rate, they'd get to the weekend without a free hour. Robin would rattle off the name of some city on the other side of the world and lunch this week would turn into a vague someday. He wasn't prepared for the anger that roiled low in his gut.

"Thursday is good. Where are we going?"

Where indeed? Barney pulled up an app. "Assuming the WWN building hasn't moved, we'll put in that address, reference Harmon Coulter, and," he broke off as the app found the restaurant closest to the midpoint between the two buildings. "Carmichael's is almost exactly halfway between our offices. That's obviously out, but there's a hibachi place two blocks closer to you and an Italian place one block over from me. Not a good day for either of us to wear white shirts if we go there, but the baked ziti is excellent."

"Carmichael's is fine."

"Really? No bad juju?"

Robin shrugged. "Ted is banned from Carmichael's. You and I aren't, it's the most convenient location and the food is pretty good."

"Then Carmichael's it is. Two for lunch, Thursday at noon. Done. Second date locked in." He peeked at her screen. She'd entered the time but no name. "I'm fine with you putting down Harmon Cutler. We both know Patrice has boundary issues. The only person who would get more excited over you and I going on a date would be Lily."

Robin's screen went dark. "Lily already knows."

"How does Lily already know?"

"It came up." Twin red splotches rode high on her cheekbones. Robin reached for her shoes again, and this time, she put them on.

He wouldn't ask. "So you two are talking again? That's good. We've all missed you. It's not right when you aren't here."

Robin shook out Barney's coat and folded it before handing it back. "I missed you guys, too." She glanced up and down the street. A lone yellow cab drove by, followed by a pair of delivery trucks. "Um, how are we getting home? It's been a while since we ditched your driver."

"Not to worry. I always book into the wee hours. Let me wake him up from his nap and I'll get you home. All we have to do is get rid of our trash." His fingers brushed fur as he reached behind him for the cardboard tray. A scraggly orange cat regarded them with baleful yellow eyes. "Or we could wait on the corner. Nice kitty." He scrambled from the steps, Robin's hand in his.


	13. Chapter 13

"Robin?" Barney's voice cut through the fog of Robin's sleep when the town car came to a stop. "We're here."

She snuggled deeper into the plane of his shoulder. "Not getting up."

Barney skimmed the back of one hand along the curve of her jaw. "Have to. We're," he let out a long breath. "You're home." He slid away from her by millimeters.

Home. Robin groaned. It wasn't, not without him. "Come up with me?"

There was a long pause before he pushed the door open. "It's late." Cool night air rushed in, chilling the bare skin of her legs. Barney climbed out, then extended a hand to her. "I'll see you inside."

She clasped his hand in hers and scooted along the seat, purse clutched in her other hand. They'd done this so many times that her body knew the steps of this routine. Muscle memory took over. One foot hit the curb. She leaned forward, wrap clutched about her shoulders, purse tucked under one arm. Allowed the steady presence of him to assist her out of the car, to stand on her own. His hand slipped from hers, only to settle in the small of her back, bare skin on bare skin. Anticipation shimmered along her flesh. They could do this. Had done this, countless times, gone from a back seat to heated kisses and a tangle of sheets and naked limbs in a matter of minutes.

Abdul looked up from his stand as soon as they passed through the lobby doors. "Good evening tonight, Ms. Sherbatsky?"

Robin pushed her tumbled hair out of her face. "Very good evening. You really are welcome to come up," she whispered to Barney once they reached the elevators.

Barney's upper lip curled, though amusement sparked his eyes. "On a first date? What kind of guy do you think I am?"

"Hopefully," she said with a sly smile, "the kind of guy who's going to give me a goodnight kiss." She allowed her wrap to slip off one shoulder.

He tipped her chin with a touch of his hand. "Now, that, I can do."

Robin's heart raced at the touch of Barney's mouth on hers. He cupped the back of her head in one hand, her bottom in the other and drew her fully to him. Her purse dropped to the floor as she threaded both arms about his neck. She'd missed this. Needed his arms about her, the gentle nibble of teeth on her lower lip. Needed to be held with that unique combination of ardor and reverence only he could provide.

It was over too soon. Barney set himself back and touched two fingers to his own mouth, his lips pressed together in a thin line. He leaned in toward her again, not to kiss her this time, but to punch the elevator call button. "I have to go right now, or I'm not leaving tonight at all."

"You can stay." She reached for his lapel and rolled the edge between thumb and forefinger.

Barney caught her wrist and disengaged her touch. He rubbed at the back of his ear. Shifted his weight from foot to foot. "First date, remember? That's kind of, um," he swallowed, "important to me right now. Thursday, noon, at Carmichael's?"

She didn't understand, not even a little, but the slant of his mouth and tilt of his brows drew forth her answer. You're an idiot. "I'll be there."

"Awesome." He flashed her a grin half a second before he zoomed in to steal a kiss. She had no time to react. Barney executed a precise turn and stalked away from her, his shoulders square and head high. He paused at Abdul's stand only long enough to request a high five and leave a single bill in the doorman's hand on his way out.

The elevator chimed its arrival. Robin spared one last glance at the door –he was already gone- and stepped inside. She dug in her purse for her keys, beneath the ruined stockings. Totally worth it. She aimed a satisfied smirk at her reflection in the closed elevator doors and readied her keys.

Alberta yapped and barked her excitement at Robin's return even before Robin had the door open. Robin kicked off her shoes and deposited purse and wrap on the table by the door and released Alberta from her crate. She scratched Alberta's chest and neck while she scanned the interior of the crate. The water bowl had taken a hit, but remained in its holder. A slick puddle of slobber dampened the rubber of Alberta's favorite chew toy.

"Want to go out?"

Alberta's tail wagged in a furious circle.

"Me too." Robin filled Alberta's chew toy with kibble to keep her busy and headed for the bedroom. She peeled off the dress and hung it back in its bag, ready for the drycleaner in the morning. She tossed leggings and oversized t-shirt over adhesive bra and boyshorts and shoved her feet into canvas slip-ons. She threw her hair into a messy ponytail, then affixed Alberta's leash. Keys, treats, what else? Alberta danced around Robin's feet on the way to the front closet.

Robin pulled open the closet door. Her fingers brushed wool, cloth, leather. The vintage bomber jacket fell from its hanger and into her grip like an old friend. She shrugged into it and out again in a matter of seconds, then placed the jacket back on the hanger. She couldn't wear Greg's jacket, not tonight, with the taste of Barney's root beer kisses still on her tongue.

She plucked a hooded sweatshirt from a hook on the back of the door instead and vowed to stick the jacket in the mail in the morning. Monday morning, she corrected herself and scratched Alberta's floppy ear. The post office wouldn't be open anyway. Of course something as simple as returning a jacket couldn't be easy. She'd take the stupid thing to work and have Patrice do it. The door locked behind them, Robin led Alberta down the hall and pressed the elevator call button.

"So," she asked the dog while they waited, "what did you do all night while I was gone? I'm going to guess you chewed on Squishy and licked yourself between naps."

Alberta's tail thumped twice against Robin's leg.

"Good girl. When you find something that works, stick with it." They entered the elevator when it arrived. Robin fell silent and waved at the elevator's other occupant, a middle-aged African American woman in surgical scrubs, white lab coat draped over her arm. "Late night, Bettina?"

Dr. Bettina Flynn answered with a good natured shake of her head. "Babies come when babies come. How about you? Hot date?"

"Just got back from one, actually."

"Good for you."

Robin looped Alberta's leash around her wrist as the elevator doors opened. "Yeah, I think he is."

"Well, you go get him, but not in that outfit. Night, Alberta." Bettina wiggled her fingers at Alberta and exited the elevator.

Robin took a treat from the pouch at her waist and offered it to Alberta. One warm breath later, the treat was gone. Robin led Alberta past Abdul's stand and out into the night. "I had fun with Barney," she said as soon as they hit the sidewalk and started on their usual route. "Remember the time we couldn't go to the dog park because some kids found a body there, so we ran the whole jogging trail instead?"

Alberta sniffed at a crumpled paper on the ground, circled a trash can and trotted along on the end of Robin's leash.

"You had so much fun that you bit all the way through your tennis ball, but you still wanted to play with the pieces. It was like that tonight with me and Barney. He kissed me four times." She replayed each one in her mind, a sly smile tilting the corners of her mouth with the memory. "Okay, the first time, I kissed him, but he is really good at kissing."

Alberta looked back at Robin, button eyes bright. Her tongue lolled out of one side of her mouth. She snorted twice.

"I know, he still has the person puppy. Ellie. The person puppy's name is Ellie." The soles of her shoes squeaked on the sidewalk as she came to a stop. She dropped into a crouch and offered a treat. Alberta's tongue, warm and wet, lapped it from her palm. "I'm going to need you to bring your A game on Sunday. There's going to be a lot of people and a lot of other dogs, and we are going to be in the park, but I need you to be my wingpuppy. I'm scared, but I really, really want to play with the pieces."


	14. Chapter 14

"I am going to assume, from the fact that you are still wearing last night's tuxedo at," James consulted his watch, "eight thirty-two in the morning, that the date went either really well or really badly." James tilted his head as Barney bounded up the front steps. "Did you even go home?"

Barney shoved his hands deep into his pockets and ducked his head before he met James's curious gaze. "Things went really well."

James peered past Barney to the BMW parked at the curb. "If Robin's waiting in the car, she doesn't have to. She's welcome to come in anytime."

"That's good to know," Barney answered, "but Robin's not in the car. I was a perfect gentleman last night. I saw her inside as far as her lobby, but we are going out again. Lunch on Thursday. Ellie will be in daycare, so no sitter needed." Barney fought the urge to bounce on the balls of his feet.

James counted on his fingers. "First date last night, second date on Thursday. That makes this coming Sunday your third date. First one in four years. Little brother's getting back in the game. I don't have to call Rhonda French to give you lessons again, do I? Mom said she's been asking about you."

Barney affected an exaggerated shudder. Two encounters with Rhonda French were more than enough. Maybe if he'd never been with her the first time, he wouldn't be in this mess at all. No telling, though, who a Rhonda-less Barney would have become, but if it meant he'd never have met Robin, he didn't want to find out. "Does she still call me Barry?"

"About half the time." James answered with a dry laugh. "She said you should come around sometime."

"No, thanks. It's not even an actual date on Sunday. I'm probably going to spend more time with strange dogs than I am with Robin. She's working the event, and I'm bringing Ellie. We're going to be in a park full of people, dogs and cameras all day long. Nothing is going to happen."

James held up one finger. "Except for Robin meeting Ellie. That's going to be big. Is Robin ready for that?" James stepped back into the entryway and motioned Barney inside. Ellie's portable playpen, broken down and folded, leaned against the staircase, next to stroller and car seat.

Electronic bass notes thumped down the stairs from behind Eli's closed door as Barney followed James down the hall toward the kitchen. No other voices. No baby sounds. Too quiet. He jingled the keys in his pocket. Slightly better. "I hope so. She's the one who invited me, remember? Besides, it's not all going to be about Ellie. I'm meeting Robin's dog. Robin has a dog now, did I mention that? Black and white mutt, one ear up, one ear down. Alberta. You know, after the province, which doesn't make any sense, since Robin is from Vancouver. Vancouver would be a lame dog name. In New York, I mean. It could probably work somewhere like Seattle, or maybe Oregon. Someplace where dogs wear bandanas instead of collars. Maybe I should bring Alberta a present. Not a bandana, though. Dogs like tennis balls, right?"

James pivoted and planted one hand square in the middle of Barney's chest. "Got to stop you there. You're babbling. I get it. You're nervous about Robin meeting Ellie." He turned Barney toward the open pocket doors leading to the living room and pointed him toward the couch on the far side of the room. "Sit. Stay."

Barney dropped onto the leather cushions and folded his arms. Leave it to James to cut through all the crap. Ellie's stuffed zebra lay on the coffee table, next to a pile of crayons and construction paper. "Tom's out with Ellie again, isn't he?" Barney picked up the zebra and checked sewn-on eyes and mouth for loose threads. Nothing. Good. He set it down on the next cushion. Second time in a row Tom and Ellie were out when Barney came to get her, and third time this week. He wasn't imagining the pattern.

"He is," James answered as he settled into the wing chair next to the couch, "and this time, I asked him to take her. Sadie, too."

Barney stood the zebra on all four legs and let it flop onto its side. "Is this the part where you tell me I should be prepared for the chance that Robin really can't handle being around Ellie? That it's going to be like losing Robin all over again, but I can't go off the deep end this time because I have Ellie and you're sick of cleaning up my messes?" Barney scrubbed both hands through his hair. "I know all that. Robin said Ellie's not a dealbreaker. I asked her outright. She wouldn't like about something like that. I know there's no way of telling until they actually meet, but," his gaze flicked to the open door. No telling, either, when Tom and the girls would get back. "Robin asked me to come up with her last night. This morning. After midnight. She said I could stay. I wanted to, but I couldn't. I have to do things right this time. For Robin and for Ellie."

"And for yourself." James leaned forward, hands clasped, elbows balanced on his knees. "It's good that you're looking out for Ellie, and that you're considering Robin's feelings, but you're the only brother I've got. I'm going to need you at the top of your game."

Barney knew that catch in James's voice. "Everything okay?"

This time, it was James who looked back toward the hallway. "Tom does want another kid. We were up with Ellie last night and it came out."

Barney let out a low whistle. "That's big." Want to take this one? He flicked the zebra's front hoof with one finger. "Do you want another kid?"

James scratched at the back of his neck and sucked air through his teeth. "I love having Ellie around, and she does remind me how great it was when Eli and Sadie were little. We never had an actual newborn, so I get the appeal of finally getting to experience this stage." James cast a pointed look at Ellie's zebra. "Our kids were babies a long time ago. Tom and I were both a lot younger then. Eli will be eighteen and out of the house in three years. He's even talking about the Army, if you can believe that. Sadie's almost ten; she'll be a teenager before we know it. I want Tom to be happy. He's a good father, and I love him, but-" he trailed off with a shake of his head.

"You'll figure it out. You're still up for borrowing Ellie once in a while, right?"

"Yeah, sure. If Tom and I aren't home, Eli is becoming a hot commodity in the neighborhood babysitting market. He said to mention he'll give you the family discount."

Barney stood the zebra on its hind legs and pumped one of its front legs in the air. "Awesome. I'll take him up on that."

The front door clattered against the wall a split second before Sadie's footsteps pounded against the hardwood floor and up the stairs a moment before she knocked on Eli's door. Tom's steps, slower and more solid, stopped. The door didn't close. "Want me to get her for you?"

Barney hauled himself from the couch. "I'll do it. Could use some help with the car seat, though."

"No problem." James pushed himself out of the chair and followed Barney down the hall.

Tom stood in the doorway, one hand on Ellie's head, one hand on the doorknob. He ducked his head at Barney's approach. "Hey. Sadie had the best idea while we were at the park. James and I were going to surprise Sam by bringing the kids and filling the front pew at service. You and Ellie should come. We could put the car seat in the van, and you guys wouldn't have to go all the way home and drive out later."

Sure, Sadie's idea. "Crap, it's not his birthday already, is it?"

"Nah. Mom just thought it would be nice for Dad to have his own family present because he's talking about family today." James slipped by Barney to put an arm around Tom's shoulder and whisper something Barney couldn't hear.

Tom let out a long breath. "It would mean a lot." He dropped a kiss on Ellie's head and lifted her out of the sling.

Not, Barney guessed, only to Sam. "That actually does sound good, but I'm not exactly dressed for it." He took Ellie from Tom and settled her on his shoulder. "Did she eat yet?"

"She doesn't want anything to do with the soy formula, but Eli got her to take half a bottle." Tom extricated himself from the sling and draped it over the banister. "You're talking to Dr. Flynn about going back to cow milk based, right?"

Barney rubbed Ellie's back in slow circles. "I know how to feed my own kid."

"Tom." There was a world of warning in James's voice.

Tom held up both hands in a placating gesture. "Sorry. It really would be good for Sam if everybody came. You can grab a shower here, and I can lend you something less, um," he swept Barney with a quick glance, "formal. How'd it go last night, anyway?"

"It went well." Barney shifted Ellie into the crook of his arm, his hand supporting her head. Blonde wisps curled around his fingers. "What do you say, want to see Grandma and Grandpa early?"


	15. Chapter 15

Robin's pulse pounded like a racehorse headed for the finish line. She approached the hostess stand at Carmichael's precisely at noon, her steps as calm and even as she could will them to be. Her sights zeroed in on the blue French horn, now chained to the wall, under glass for good measure. There was no chance at all that Ted would try to steal it or any other instrument for her again, not now, and not in the foreseeable future. Tracy made Ted happier, merely by being Tracy, than Robin ever could have, if she'd dedicated the rest of her life to trying. Not only was that door closed and locked, but it was bricked over, and Barney's window, against all odds, had flown wide open.

She didn't see Barney at first. Her stomach plummeted. Her feet itched. He wasn't here. She could see the note he'd have left with the hostess for her already. I'm sorry, it would say. I really thought I could do this, but I have to put Ellie first. I hope you understand. She didn't and she wouldn't. Her gaze flicked to the bar. There was an empty stool three seats from the door, calling her name. A bottle of Crown Royal Special Reserve beckoned from its space on the top shelf.

A flash of motion in the dining room caught her attention. She noticed the shape of him first as he stood, tall and lean, then the colors. Gray suit, blue shirt, dark red tie that brought out the pink in his skin and the blue in his eyes. Blond hair glinted burnished gold under the overhead lights. Barney. Her lips formed his name without sound.

She'd teased him once, back before they'd put any labels on him-and-her, about his relying on professional assistance for the color. He'd reddened, affronted at the implication and offered to prove then and there that he was a natural blond. His proof at the time consisted of rolling up his sleeve. She'd learned since then. Now she had absolutely no doubt. Fresh haircut, new tie –he only stroked new ties that way when he adjusted the knot- those were good signs. Very good. Anticipation tingled the tips of Robin's fingers. She willed her weakening knees to hold her upright for the next few steps. All she had to do was get to the chair. It wasn't that far.

"One for lunch?" The hostess consulted her seating chart and tucked a menu under her arm.

Robin tipped her head toward the table where Barney even now pulled out her chair. "I'm meeting someone."

His solar flare smile broke out at that. He fastened the top button on his jacket when Robin returned his wave. Unfastened it when she took her first step toward him. Muscles flexed beneath linen and cotton as he thrust his chest out, shoulders back. His knuckles whitened where he gripped the back of her chair.

Robin strode past the hostess stand and crossed to the table on nude heels she now counted worth every penny. "Hi."

"Hi." Barney managed to get two syllables out of the single word, carried on spearmint scented breath that fell warm on her cheek. He waited for her to settle herself, then guided the chair closer to the table before he returned to his own seat. "Is this awkward?"

"It's kind of awkward."

The corners of his mouth drooped. "But it doesn't have to be, right? I mean we're us. Were us. Have been us." He shook his head. "Should I go back to 'hi' and start over?"

"You're an idiot." Robin picked up the single sheet menu in front of her, black print on thick white cardstock, held by a textured burgundy frame. "This is different."

Barney looked up from his own menu. "They had one of those TV guys come through a couple months back. English guy, yells a lot."

"That doesn't narrow the field." She looked over the selections; beef, chicken, fish, vegetarian. "How much did he change? Literally nothing I have ever eaten here is on this thing."

"Do you trust me?"

Robin flexed one foot, slipped it out of the shoe and back in again. "Um, sure?"

Barney's half smile flashed for a fraction of a second. "Are you feeling safe or adventurous?"

A voice in the back of Robin's head told her he wasn't talking only about the food. She shifted in her seat. "Adventurous, with the caveat that I do have to go back to work when we're done here. Speaking of which, can you drink? I would love a good scotch. Maybe a whisky. They have Crown Royal. My treat." She'd missed the way he held a rocks glass, swirled it and stared into its depths when he couldn't find the right words. Watching him do that had always steadied her as much as the drink itself. She could use both about now.

There was a pause before he answered. "You go ahead. I have to," he turned his attention to the menu once more. "I have an important meeting first thing when I get back, with, um," his fingers drummed against the table, "a very demanding client. I need to stay focused."

Robin's shoe dropped to the floor. She swept her foot around beneath the table in slow, careful arcs that expanded by the smallest degree possible. Accidental footsie was the last thing she needed right now, or on-purpose footsie, for that matter. Barney wasn't going to drink with her now because he'd be spending time with Ellie afterward. He didn't have to spell that out for Robin to catch the meaning. "How is she?" She. Robin gave herself a mental smack. She couldn't say Barney's daughter's name. It shouldn't be that difficult. Ellie. El-lie. Two syllables. She imagined the name projected on a teleprompter across from an anchor desk. Ellie. Nope, not happening. Coward. Her toe brushed the edge of his pant leg as she connected with her shoe at last. She drew the shoe back toward her as fast as she could.

Barney lifted one brow. "So we're steering into the awkwardness this time? Interesting choice, but since you asked," He set the menu down and clasped his hands on top of it, then leveled a direct stare at Robin, "Ellie hates her new formula, so we're going back to the old one, unless I hire a wet nurse or get hooked up with a milk bank. Her diapers qualify as toxic waste. She's more of a night owl than me in my twenties, and she does not suck her thumb. She sucks her entire fist. I don't know whether to be proud or creeped out by that." He picked up the menu again and eyed her over the top of it. "Sorry you asked?"

Robin pressed her lips together and fit her foot back into the shoe. "No. Ellie is a part of your life now. If we're going to be in each other's lives, then there are certain things we're going to have to talk about." There. Facts. If x, then y. Plain, rational, unemotional facts. She bounced her foot under the table.

"Are you still okay with meeting her on Sunday? I mean, we can put it off if you need more time. I could still come and check out," he paused for a sip of water, "the dogs."

"No, bring her. I invited both of you, and besides, you're both already on the list." Robin clutched the menu in both hands. The stitching on the menu's frame dug into her palms. "Unless you don't want her to meet, um, dogs, anymore." She stared hard at the black lettering of the menu. Words and numbers swirled before her eyes.

Barney's voice came barely above a whisper. "Of course I want her to meet dogs. Dogs are awesome. Every kid should have a dog."

"You didn't."

"Robin." His hand rested atop hers, loosed the menu from her grip before his fingers laced with hers. "I want this. I want you. Us. All of us. We can do this."

She clung to the quiet certainty in his voice, the warmth of his skin on hers. Maybe. His thumb glided across her palm in gentle arcs. "I'm scared. What if she hates me?" What if I look at her and all I can see is the random bimbo who gave you what I never could? What if there's only room in your life for one of us?

"Ellie's a baby. She doesn't hate anybody."

"She hates her formula."

Barney's nose wrinkled. His upper lip curled. "I hate her formula, too. I tried it. It's disgusting." He leaned in only enough to brush his lips over the back of her hand. "The food here is much better. Trust me." He signaled the waiter. "We're ready."


	16. Chapter 16

"Sunday is going to be a big day for everybody," Barney said as soon as the waiter departed. "You're not the only one nervous about meeting somebody important. Is it true dogs can smell fear?"

The corners of Robin's mouth twitched, and Barney allowed himself a small measure of relief at the sight. If he could make her smile, make her laugh, then it was worth anything. "You're afraid of meeting Alberta? What do you think she's going to do, lick you to death? She fits in my purse."

Not, Barney guessed, the small leather clutch resting next to her chair. "Remember who you're talking to here. I'm the one who made you promise on your mother's life that you would never again put some guy ahead of your dogs. I mean it, even if I happen to be that guy. Think it would help if I stuffed my pockets with dog treats? I am willing to do that if it would make even the slightest difference."

Robin's nose crinkled. "You'd never make it past the first kennel. Dogs love you anyway; you're a natural. All my other dogs liked you." Guilt still pinched her features at the mention of her first dogs. They'd all be gone now, he imagined, and felt their loss more than he thought he would. She should have had more time with them. "Brover loved you."

Barney waved a hand in dismissal. "That's only because our entire relationship was based on helping each other score. I doubt that's going to work with Alberta. That did not come out the way I meant it," he added at the lift of Robin's brows. "If she likes me, that's a point in my favor, right?"

"A big point." Her cheeks flushed the same bright pink as her dress. She reached for her water glass and took a drink. "That didn't come out right, either. None of the dogs at the event are scoring with anybody. We're partnered with a spay and neuter clinic."

"Number Thirty One offered to have me neutered. Offered to do it herself, actually, and I will say that she is not by any means a medical professional." He stopped himself there. Robin wasn't smiling this time. "Sorry, not date appropriate conversation. We should go back to dogs. Does Alberta like tennis balls?"

A fond warmth lit Robin's eyes. Her lashes dipped in that way that hinted at something she wasn't ready to share yet. "Loves them. Seriously, you have nothing to worry about. Alberta loves everybody."

"Did she love Greg?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Barney knew they were the wrong ones. He bit back the question he didn't dare ask. Did you love Greg? The warmth left Robin's eyes. Her jaw tightened. The soft thump of shoe hitting floor broke the silence that fell like a curtain between them. "Sorry. Forget I said anything. Oh, look, it's our waiter. He has salad. I have never been this glad to see salad in my entire life." He added a half hearted fistpump for good measure.

The waiter set a frosted glass bowl and a pair of stainless steel tongs in the center of the table, one smaller glass plate in front each of them, along with a cruet of oil and vinegar. A quick assurance that their entrees would be right out, and the waiter was gone. Neither Barney nor Robin reached for the tongs.

Robin looked down and adjusted the napkin in her lap. Her ankle banged against Barney's beneath the table, her bare toe a moment later. She drew back both times as if contact with him had burned her. "Alberta was post-Greg." She bent in her seat and plucked at the edge of the tablecloth.

Barney scooted his chair back to do the same. A lone nude pump lay on its side an inch from his left foot. He nudged it back toward Robin and pulled his chair back in. Robin bouncing her shoes was better than her throwing them, but still not an action he wanted to inspire. "Sorry, I shouldn't have brought that up, either." He didn't want to start counting his apologies, but he knew there were too many for such a short span of time. He had to turn this around. "Good looking salad, huh? Green and purple lettuce, that's fancy. I bet they even make their own croutons here. That English guy is always big on homemade croutons." He snatched up the tongs and dumped the contents on Robin's plate.

"Sure you don't want to adopt a rabbit instead of a dog?"

The tone of Robin's voice froze Barney's hand on his next dip into the bowl. Her stare rested on him like a physical touch. He clamped his mouth shut and ran the tip of his tongue over top and bottom teeth. No, no lettuce stuck there, green or purple. There couldn't be. He hadn't eaten anything yet. His fingers contracted and released. Another mound of green and purple appeared on Robin's plate, shreds of orange scattering down as he retracted the tongs. A rabbit would be a big help. That was a lot of salad. He moved half of the mound to his own plate. She's still staring. Crap. Now the next table was staring, too. He moved half of the contents of each plate back to the bowl. "Dressing?"

Robin's hand covered the cruet and pulled it out of his reach. "Better let me handle that."

"Probably wise."

Robin drew the stopper from first one side of the cruet and then the other, to drizzle oil and vinegar over both plates. "There's something you should know about Alberta before you meet her. She's not only a pet."

A forkful of purple lettuce paused halfway to Barney's mouth. "Does she fight crime?"

Brown hair fell forward to shadow Robin's cheek. She moistened her lower lip with the tip of her tongue and flicked her hair back. "Almost." She poked at her salad with her fork and rolled a cherry tomato into a nest of shredded carrots.

"Quit playing with your food."

Robin startled at the sharp sound of Barney's voice, then speared the tomato and popped it into her mouth.

"I have no idea where that came from." He tried to summon a self deprecating grin, but it wouldn't come. That wasn't funny. His own voice echoed, too harsh, in his ears. "Jumped right out all on its own. I sound like somebody's dad."

"You are somebody's dad."

He tilted his head in acknowledgement and rubbed at the muscle that jumped in the back of his neck. He didn't need the reminder. This wasn't about Ellie. Her food came out of a bottle. He didn't want to talk about Ellie, not when Robin had something important enough on her mind to make her fiddle with food. "You were saying about Alberta?"

Robin reached for her water glass and blinked, as though the question had pulled her back from some other place. "Alberta is my emotional support animal. For my panic attacks."

Barney took Robin's hand in his. "Are you okay? She's not with you now. Do you need her? Can Patrice bring her?" He turned her hand and brushed his thumb over the inside of her wrist. "Can she even come in restaurants? We could have found someplace dog friendly. You should have told me."

Robin stopped him with a touch. "I'm fine most of the time. I can work. I can go to lunch. It's good to have someone there when I travel, so I'm not completely alone in a strange place. She has papers that allow her go with me when I need her."

He made a mental note to look up emotional support animals after he had time with Ellie. "If that's all it took, maybe I should have looked into getting papers when we were married. I could have been your emotional support husband. Then I could have gone with you all the time. Maybe if I'd focused more on being there for you, things could have been different."

"Barney, no. That wasn't your job." Her grip on his hand tightened, as though she could shut off the idea that a dog could take better care of her than he could.

"No, it was. We were married. I should have been there for you, and I wasn't. I didn't know what it meant back then to have somebody depend on me. Guess it took Ellie to teach me that. She can't even roll herself over, but she's already smarter than her old man." He released his hold and pulled his hand back.

Robin captured his cuff between two fingers and worked her hand back into his. "If she gets even half your smarts, she's going to be unstoppable. Same as her dad. You got me to say yes to a second date. That's something."

"Better than that," Barney said as their waiter approached, tray in hand. "It's everything. Ellie's going to love you."


	17. Chapter 17

Robin paced the floor of her trailer, phone held to her ear. "Lily, you have under five minutes to talk me down. Barney texted me from the gate. He's here." No, not only Barney. "They're here. Security is escorting Barney and Ellie to my trailer right now. Can babies smell fear? If they can, this kid is in for a world of stink."

"Sweetie, that's dogs." Lily's voice carried over the muted sounds of cartoons playing in the background on the other end of the line.

One extra spritz of cherry blossom body spray wouldn't hurt. Unless any perfume was too much. Damn it. Robin snatched a tissue from the box on the table next to her makeup case and mopped at the base of her throat. "But Ellie is Barney's baby. That means she's smarter than regular babies. Except for your babies. Your babies are all geniuses. Well-behaved, too. You should bring them over, right now. Kids love dogs."

Lily heaved a sigh of pure exasperation. "We've been over this. I can't bring three kids to a dog adoption event and not come home with a puppy, especially with how dog crazy Daisy is. That would be cruel. You're going to do fine."

No, no, I'm not. "That's easy for you to say. You're not meeting Ellie for the first time. She's Barney's kid. She's bound to have people skills other babies can only dream of; adults, even. I only get one chance to make a first impression. What was Ellie like when you met her? What did you do? Did she like that?" Maybe if she had some sort of baseline, she could find a chink in the solid wall of terror that boxed her in on all sides. "She likes you, right?"

"Ellie was asleep when I first met her, because she was just born. I looked at her through the nursery window and wiggled my fingers. To be honest, I was more concerned with how Barney was doing. Take a deep breath and relax. Ellie is too young to remember anything you do today. As long as you don't drop her on her head, you're good."

Robin shifted the phone to her other ear. "You mean I have to hold her?" Her thumb worried at the empty spot where her wedding ring used to be. Nobody said anything about holding Ellie. Only meeting her. Wiggling fingers through a pane of glass sounded a lot safer, and a lot more appealing. "What if I do drop her on her head? You can't promise I won't. I'm all slick with lotion and sunscreen. Barney will hate me."

A loud crash of blocks and a toddler's wail cut off Lily's response. "Marvin, apologize to your sister. Now. Share the blocks or they're going away. I mean it. Just a sec." Lily's voice gave way to the click of plastic on granite, then two high pitched voices talking over each other. Even over the phone, Robin could imagine the arch look Lily would level at her children to make them mind. Lily was a natural. Lily had three babies and she'd never dropped one of them. Lily's kids had to like her; she'd made them, and she didn't want to take their daddy away. One big happy family, the five of them, picture-perfect. "Okay," Lily said at last. "I'm back. Barney is not going to hate you, and you are not going to drop Ellie. If you don't want to hold her, you don't have to hold her."

Robin shut her eyes tight and pressed a hand to her stomach. The pancakes she'd forced herself to eat at the media breakfast threatened to make a return appearance. "Yes, I do. If Barney asks me to hold that baby and I say I don't want to, he's going to think I don't-" She broke off at the sound of three sharp raps on her trailer's door. Patrice's knock. "I should go."

"No, you just had juice. You can wait until lunch. Not you, sweetie. Daisy just had juice. You love Barney and Barney loves you. Everything else is just details. Call me after."

"Robin?" The latch turned a second after Lily ended the call. Half of Patrice's face appeared between door and wall. "Robin, your guests are here."

The skin on the backs of Robin's legs tingled. Her muscles tensed with the desire to run. She drew in a deep breath and slipped the phone into the pocket of her navy linen trousers. "Okay. I'll be right out. Can you get Alberta for me? I need her. "

Patrice's head dipped in a nod. "Sure thing." The door shut without a sound.

In a minute, Robin told herself, she'd have Alberta's leash in her hand. In a minute, she would step out that door, down two steps and be face to face with Barney and his baby. Literal living, breathing proof that life went on for him after their divorce. She fingered the silver wishbone charm that hung at her neck and willed her pulse to slow. She pushed open the door before she could talk herself out of it and kept her head down until she'd cleared the steps. Alberta's paws danced on the grass, between the bright streaks of fuschia that were Patrice's shoes. Robin put her hand out for the leash and only looked up when her fingers closed around the worn leather loop.

Only Barney would wear a suit to a dog adoption event, but she wouldn't have expected any less. She'd put down cash money that some intern would mistake him for on air talent or one of the local politicians and try to mic him before the event actually opened to the public. She allowed herself a moment to drink in the sight of him, piece by piece: tan single button suit, white on blue windowpane check shirt, solid navy tie, gray stroller with pink piping. Crap. The person puppy was real, and she was in that thing. Robin summoned her best photo-op smile and raised her gaze to meet Barney's. Maybe, if she ignored the stroller, focused only on Barney, it wouldn't be quite so scary.

Barney motioned to Patrice, then stepped away from the stroller and toward Robin, eyes bright, arms open. The brush of his lips against her cheek electrified every inch of her, spurred her to raise herself on tiptoe and return the gesture as his arms closed about her. His skin, smooth and warm to her touch, smelled of mint, citrus and baby powder. He'd worn that same scent, minus the baby powder, all during their secret summer together. He remembered. So did she. She drew back. "Hey, you made it."

"Wouldn't miss it. I've never seen so many waggly butts in one place before. Puppies everywhere. I kept the hood up on the stroller so Alberta will be the first dog Ellie ever actually sees."

"Well, here she is." Robin signaled Alberta to sit and stay. "Ellie will be Alberta's first baby, too. Alberta, shake."

Barney dropped down to a crouch and took Alberta's offered paw in his hand. "Good to meet you, Alberta." One shake, and then she nosed at his breast pocket. "I actually did bring treats. Same brand as the event sponsor. Is that okay?"

Alberta turned big brown eyes on Robin, accompanied by a plaintive whimper.

"It's fine. If it's liver flavor, you'll be her new best friend."

"Guess this is her lucky day, then." Barney placed a single treat in his palm and held it out to Alberta. Two seconds later, he stood and flipped his hand upside down, brows knit in confusion. "You didn't tell me Alberta did magic. Is she part vacuum or something? I didn't feel lips or whiskers or tongue or anything."

In another life, they both would have added that's what she said at the same time and capped it off with a high five, neither of which were even close to appropriate for the current venue. Robin bit her lower lip and bent to scratch Alberta behind her floppy ear. "The shelter said terrier mix. Could be some vacuum in there somewhere. Did she slime you?"

"She did not." Barney swept his hand along the opposite sleeve to demonstrate. "Which is more than I can say for Ellie. This is the third shirt I've had on this morning, thanks to her."

That, Robin could imagine all too well. "I bet your drycleaner loves her."

"Adores her is more like it. Hey, check this out." He unclipped a laminated card from the hood of the stroller and held it out to Robin. "Ellie got her own VIP pass, with her picture on it and everything. You have to sign this sucker, because it is going straight in her baby book. How many babies get their own VIP passes?"

Robin bit her lower lip and plucked the ID tag from Barney's grasp. "Um, not many." He'd want some comment from her. She could tell by the expectant set of brows and mouth, the way his breath caught in his throat. Damn. She was going to have to look at the picture. Better picture than actual baby. She wound Alberta's leash around her hand once and focused on the crisp black letters next to the picture. Maybe if she focused on the words first, she could work up to the picture.

Not, she told herself a second later, the best possible move. Her eyes went right to the name, Ellie Stinson, in boldface beneath the picture she wasn't yet ready to see. She didn't know what Ellie was short for. Eleanor? Elizabeth? Eloise? She should know something like that. Ellie didn't seem like a name Barney would pick. Maybe he hadn't. Maybe that was Number Thirty One's choice and Barney didn't get any say in the matter. All he got was to raise the kid on his own. A muscle in her arm contracted. Alberta yelped. "Sorry, baby." Robin bent to smooth Alberta's ruffled fur. She straightened and extended the ID back to Barney, at arm's length. "You'd better take this. I'll sign it at the end of the day."

"Sure." Barney clipped the ID back onto the stroller and regarded Robin over the pink ruffle along the edge of the hood. "Ready to meet Ellie?" Expectation rolled from him in waves as he bent over the stroller and reached inside it.

Panic slammed into Robin in full force. Her stomach churned, chest tightened. She closed her eyes against lights gone too bright, colors too sharp. Her head throbbed against a cacophony of dog barks, human voices, motors, the hum of electronic equipment. Alberta pawed at her leg, the signal to sit down. Robin lowered herself to the trailer steps and pulled Alberta into her lap. Okay, Panic, you want to dance? Let's dance. 

She swirled her fingers into the fur of Alberta's chest and rubbed in counterclockwise circles. Meeting the person puppy was not negotiable. She'd already been through hair and makeup, she was contracted for the day, and she'd have some explaining to do to Barney, WWN and SuperMutts if she took off running. So, no running; that was a decision. Knowing what she wasn't going to do was the first step.

"Robin?" Barney's voice cut through the swirling chaos of thought, low enough so only she could hear. "Are you okay?"

She fixed her attention on his shoes, brown leather with six eyelets for the laces. "Nope."

"Panic attack?"

"Yep."

The shoes came one step closer. "Do you want some company? Patrice can watch Ellie if you're not ready for-."

"I'm ready." The words came out on their own, the churning in Robin's gut replaced by a flutter in her chest. Ellie's first impression of her was not going to be of a crazy lady with the cold sweats. Suck it, Panic. If I can stand in front of mortar fire and look into a camera, I can sit on my trailer steps and look at a baby. Even Barney's baby. "I want to meet Ellie. Patrice, can we get a chair over here?"


	18. Chapter 18

Brown leather oxfords made way for fuchsia flats and the hem of Patrice's flowered skirt. Flats and oxfords shuffled about until all four legs of the metal folding chair rested on solid ground. Chair in place, the flats retreated and oxfords took their place again. Tan socks showed as Barney settled into his seat.

Robin stroked Alberta in long, smooth motions from head to tail, then over again. She could do this. Baby steps. She winced at the choice of words. Her gaze traveled up along tan linen pant legs until she came to a pair of white booties scattered with tiny black paw prints. The memory of a long-ago fishy sock rose in her mind. Sock. She'd stolen one sock from a neighbor's baby and Barney had stolen the other. In any right and just world, that would have been a portent of things to come, of their baby a few more miles down the road. This world was neither just nor fair.

If Robin were going to back out of this, this was her moment. I'm sorry. I can't. The words lodged in her throat, stopped short of her tongue. This was also her chance to find out how Barney Stinson would dress a baby girl, and curiosity outranked fear. Two more circles on Alberta's chest earned her a lick and the press of Alberta's wet nose against the bare flesh of her upper arm. He'd put a boy in a suit, she knew that without a doubt, but a girl? She couldn't even begin to guess. She'd have to look.

"Robin Charles Sherbatsky, Junior, allow me to introduce Danielle Rebecca Stinson. Ellie, this pretty lady is Aunt Robin. The short, fuzzy one is Alberta. She's a dog. We talked about dogs." Barney cradled Ellie in the crook of his arm, positioned for Robin's inspection. His baby, blonde and blue-eyed, dressed in pink ruffled skirt and heather gray onesie. His baby but not hers. Robin's empty womb ached.

Alberta wriggled in Robin's arms, strained forward to investigate the new arrival. Robin held her back. She needed more time. She'd seen Barney hold babies before; Eli, Sadie, Marvin, Daisy, Penny, Luke. Not Rose. She'd never seen Barney hold Rose, because they were divorced by then, and invitations had turned to either or occasions. Invite Robin or invite Barney, and catch the other one next time. Never the twain would meet. If he was there, she wasn't, and the other way round. She hadn't wanted to see him hold anybody's baby after the divorce. Hadn't wanted to see him living his life without her, because that would have shattered the last bit of her heart she'd managed to keep intact. She marveled that it still beat now.

"Hi, Ellie." There. She'd got the words out. Said the person puppy's name. "Wow, she really looks like you."

Barney stroked Ellie's hair, cornsilk-pale against pink skin. "Yeah, poor kid." One corner of his mouth slanted up, the other down. "Not sure how this mug is going to translate into girl."

"No, she's beautiful." Robin focused on each feature in turn. Ellie really did look like Barney. Maybe a little like Loretta, but baby faces changed every day. Maybe next time, a stranger's mouth or nose would jump out at her, maybe not. Not the eyes, though. Those eyes weren't baby blue, they were Barney-blue, unfocused and round. "Can I hold her?"

Barney's brows shot up. His forehead creased. "You really want to?"

No, Robin's rational mind screamed, but it was too late by then. "I need to. Switch?" Robin tapped Alberta's bottom, the signal to get down.

"Yeah, sure. Support her head." Gold-tipped lashes dipped. His face flushed. "Sorry, you know that."

She did know. They'd transferred nieces and nephews between them, hundreds of times. This, too, their bodies remembered. As easy as old times, Robin had Ellie in her arms. The tiny body squirmed, fists and feet waved in an attempt to find a comfortable spot in this stranger's arms. "Danielle, huh?"

Barney pressed a thumb to his temple, then reached down to scoop one hand under Alberta's belly. "Number Thirty One picked the names. That was one of her conditions. Can we not talk about her right now?" He plopped Alberta into his lap and ruffled the fur behind her ears. She nosed at his pocket and let out a hopeful yip. "Can Alberta have another treat?"

Robin didn't answer at first, too transfixed by the feel of Barney's baby in her arms. Ellie quieted, one fist in her mouth, the other clamped around Robin's finger. Robin's breath caught. "She grabbed my finger."

Barney swallowed. He plucked a treat from his pocket without waiting for Robin's answer. Alberta sniffed once, then nipped the treat from his hand. "She likes you. What do you," his mouth pressed into a thin line, lips white, before he could continue. "What do you think of her?"

"She's awesome." The words came out in a whisper, half a second before her rational brain reminded her exactly how the mini-Barney in her arms had been conceived. It didn't matter. It did, but the desperate need in Barney's eyes mattered more. Ellie sucked on her fist, her grip on Robin's finger firm. Robin couldn't forget where this baby came from, but she could try to deal with it. She could give Barney that. "Really."

"You're awesome." A silence fell between them, louder than barking dogs and sound checks. "I love you." He leaned in to kiss her then, one hand threading itself into her hair, the other braced on the side of the trailer's step.

Robin's heart quivered. His mouth covered hers, tender, affectionate rather than sexual. Familiar. Right. This. This was what it would feel like to have her own family, even this fleeting taste of it. This was what Lily and Tracy got at the start and end of every day, and all those thousands of moments in between. No wonder she'd had to leave.

Ellie startled and wailed at the sound of a camera's shutter. By instinct, Robin shifted Ellie onto her shoulder, turned Ellie's head into the curtain of her hair.

Barney broke away from them to face the source of the sound, his stance wide, chest thrust out. "Private moment here. Plenty of time for pictures later."

"Sorry, guys." Patrice inserted herself between Barney and the cameraman. "Barney, the releases you signed for yourself and Ellie include candid shots behind the scenes. Greg is only doing his job."

"Greg?" Barney repeated the name, his voice flat. He spared Robin a quick look back over his shoulder and jabbed his thumb in the cameraman's direction. "Your Greg?"

Robin stroked Ellie's back and rocked her, whispered soft nonsense sounds in her ear. She knew what she'd see even before the photographer lowered his camera, knew the short brown hair with its speckles of silver, the stretch of maroon fitted t-shirt across broad chest. She'd stolen that shirt their first night in Montauk, and left it folded on the bed when she moved out. Greg. Here. Damn. "Barney, can you take her?" The words strangled on her tongue, so low she could barely hear herself. She turned to Barney, her appeal mute, and let him take Ellie from her before she hauled herself to her feet with a weary breath. "What are you doing here?"

Greg lowered his camera. Straight brown brows lifted over hazel eyes. "Taking pictures."

"Yeah, I figured that." Robin shoved her hands into her pockets. Barney had Ellie on his shoulder now, the same way Robin had held her. She'd been doing that right, at least. You should have told me you were going to be here."

"I wanted it to be a surprise." Vintage canvas high top sneakers shifted on the grass. "You weren't returning any of my calls. No texts, no voicemails, no emails. I even sent you a postcard."

Robin nodded her thanks as Patrice slipped Alberta's leash around her wrist. "I know. I got it."

"But you didn't answer."

Damn it, not now. Robin took a step back, next to Barney and Ellie. She lay a hand on Barney's arm. "Barney, this is Greg Randall. Greg takes amazing portraits. We, um, worked together a while back. Greg, this is Barney Stinson, my husband, and his daughter, Ellie."

Barney shifted Ellie to his other shoulder and held out his right hand. "Greg."

"You mean ex-husband, right?" Greg shook Barney's hand, but his gaze rested firmly on Robin.

Robin blinked. It wasn't fair of Greg to show up unannounced and look at her like that, like he was taking her picture with some fancy camera inside his head. He was, she knew it. Not fair, and not anywhere close to cool, especially not now, not with Barney right there. "Yeah. That's what I said. Ex-husband."

"You didn't say ex."

"I said ex. Barney, didn't I say ex?"

Barney's eyes glimmered at her over Ellie's head, his smile broad and infectuous. "You did not say ex."

"Patrice? I said ex, didn't I? You heard me say ex. I said ex. Barney and I are totally divorced. I have the paperwork and everything. He has a baby that looks nothing like me."

Patrice shook her head. "You didn't say ex."

Well, shit. "Guess I never had to introduce you to anybody as my ex before. Not ex-husband. Ex-boyfriend, though. There was that, but, um," she ran the tip of her tongue over lips gone dry and prayed that nobody within earshot was mic'd.

"Robin?" Patrice's voice cut into the awkward silence. "They're going to want to see you back in hair before the gates open. I think there's just enough time. Barney, Greg has to get shots of all the VIPs and their guests. Robin has time after the opening ceremony. Is that good for you and Ellie?"


	19. Chapter 19

"Yeah, that's fine. Sorry about messing your hair," Barney added with a nod to Robin. "I never could keep my hands to myself. Obviously, or I wouldn't have this little princess." He winced. Great job, dumbass. Inappropriate humor at a baby's expense always makes things less awkward. "Sorry about that, too. Ellie and I had a late night. I'm kind of loopy." One pass of his hand smoothed the pale cap of Ellie's hair.

Robin's lower lip plumped, followed by a gentle shake of her head. "It's fine. They'd want to check me anyway. You guys should go have a look around. Meet some dogs. There's a special baby and toddler program at It's the Pitts. All certified therapy dogs, very gentle, totally safe. Right next to the nursery tent."

Patrice cleared her throat. "Robin, we really do have to get going. Barney, you can get some coffee at the catering pavilion; that's included in your VIP pass. They can warm Ellie's bottles there, too. Greg, we'll see you here at ten fifteen?"

"Sounds good." Greg adjusted the strap on his camera, sights fixed on Robin, half hope and half hunger. The default expression, Barney noted, of the male of the species when exposed to Robin Sherbatsky in her natural habitat. "I'll be here." He leaned against the trailer and propped one sneakered foot against the supports. "You go."

Ellie shifted in Barney's arms. His eyes watered. "Speaking of going, I just located the site of a toxic waste dump. We'd better find that nursery tent."

Robin fingered the silver wishbone charm that rested in the hollow of her throat. "Or you could use my trailer. It's right here, and it's air-conditioned. It's private." Her voice deepened on that last part, brows lowered as she stared straight at Greg.

Barney weighed Ellie's bottom in his hand. This was a big one. "Thanks, but her diapers really are hazardous waste. It's going to stink."

"I'll send a volunteer for cleanup detail on our way out." Patrice looped her arm through Robin's and turned her toward the gate of the VIP area. "See you guys later." Patrice's bright flowered skirt swayed with the motion of each step. Robin had to take two steps to every one of Patrice's to keep the pace.

Greg raised the camera and adjusted his lens. He depressed the shutter the exact moment Robin looked back and waved. Two more clicks captured her laugh and the playful roll of her eyes, then one more as she brushed the hair from her face, her cheeks flushed pink. Greg lowered the camera and tipped his chin toward Robin's departing form. "Not going to watch the opening ceremony?" Alberta trotted ahead of the two women, her tail a black and white blur between them.

"Duty calls, or more accurately, doody calls. Grab the diaper bag from the stroller for me? Not the best idea to tilt this kid until I'm ready to go all in." Not the best day to wear a tan suit, either. An ominous sludge oozed between Barney's fingers while Greg poked around the wrong side of the stroller. "It's the gray bag, under the handle. Park it here." He reached out one arm to take the bag and mounted the trailer's steps. "Thanks, bro." The door swung open with a single push.

Ellie's face scrunched and reddened. Her fists beat against Barney's chest, her breath coming quick and short, gearing up for one of her air raid siren wails.

"Hey, hey, no need for that." Barney dropped a kiss on the top of her head. Poop had definitely edged out baby shampoo as the most potent smell. He opened the trailer door and ducked inside. "Look what we got here. Sweet digs. Aunt Robin's trailer is nicer than Daddy's first apartment when he moved out of Grandma's house. Bigger, too, and no cockroaches." No changing table, either. He'd have to improvise. He scanned the interior, skipping over kitchenette, bathroom and table where Robin's laptop shared space with a stack of manila folders and Polaroids of shelter dogs. Couch, tv, stack of DVDs, a toppled pile of paperback books, Alberta's water dish and squeaky toys, and then, in the rear, a single twin sized bed. Perfect.

Ellie pumped both legs and let loose with a cry that shook her entire body.

Barney crossed to the edge of the bed with long, quick steps. "Almost there. Hold on." He bounced her against his shoulder. That was usually good to knock her down a decibel or two, in fairly short order. Or not, he amended at the second scream. The diaper bag thudded onto the floor. He took out a clean towel and lay that on the bed first, then a clean diaper and lay them on the mattress before he ran a baby wipe over his hands.

"Good day so far, huh? We get to go to the big park, you met your first dog, Aunt Robin thinks you're awesome, and she did not say ex. I'll explain about that last one later, but it's all very good stuff." He slipped Ellie's skirt off, then lay her atop the clean diaper and unsnapped her onesie. Even before he got to the dirty diaper, his eyes watered. "Except for this diaper. You been sneaking snacks I don't know about? Cabbage? Old sneakers?"

Ellie squirmed and let out a grunt. She wasn't done. Wonderful.

"Can you at least save some of that for Greg? No? All mine? Awesome." He peeled back the tabs on the dirty diaper and held his breath. This diaper and Greg had a lot in common. God, why did Robin's boyfriend's name have to be Greg? Greg and Shannon, Greg and Robin. Two different Gregs, but the name, well, it had associations. "I can promise you one thing, kiddo. If you ever get a brother, his name is not going to be Greg." No chance, he told himself, of Ellie getting a brother, as he lifted Ellie's bottom from the noxious mess, because he was never having sex again. He dropped the dirty diaper into the wastebasket between bed and desk.

Unless it was sex with Robin. He would definitely have sex with Robin. She wouldn't have to ask him twice. Or once. A come hither glance would work. A crook of her finger. One of their psychic soulmate conversations. They wouldn't have to go far, either, with a perfectly good bed right here. A wave of shame crashed over him at the sound of Ellie's giggle when he swiped a baby wipe over her bottom. "I am a bad, bad father."

Two hesitant raps sounded on the trailer's door before it swung open. "Mr. Sherbatsky?"

There was a name Barney hadn't heard in a long time, but he still turned at the sound of it. He'd learned, after the first few dozen times, that it was easier to answer to the name than correct some well meaning person every time. "Hi."

The gangly collegian in plaid shirt and rumpled khakis bore the look of befuddled interns everywhere, one hand full of blue plastic bags and some white plastic appliance tucked under his other arm. The laminated badge hanging from a SuperMutts lanyard around his neck identified him as an intern for WWN. "Patrice sent me here to pick up the trash and drop off your bottle warmer?" His voice rose up at the end, as though he were asking if that was indeed the task.

Barney nodded his thanks and tugged Ellie's onesie back into place. She could do without the skirt for a while. "Thanks. Put the bottle warmer in the kitchenette. I'm going to air her out for a few minutes before attempting lunch. Be a bro and get that started for me? Bottle's in the cooler compartment on the side of the diaper bag. That's the pocket with the elephant on it."

Plaid Shirt Intern bobbed his head and set the bottle warmer down. "Sure thing, Mr. Sherbatsky. Enjoy the day."

"That's the plan." Barney shifted Ellie onto his shoulder, ducked past the intern and out into the late morning sun.

Greg was still there.


	20. Chapter 20

"Get security!" The command burst from Robin's lips as she broke away from Patrice and sprinted across the grass toward the sight that wiped all else from her mind. Barney, on his back on the ground, Greg looming over him. She bit back a curse.

She'd only left them alone for an hour. Still a bad idea. She could have asked Barney to bring Ellie along, even with the diaper. She should have asked Greg to come. He'd have got the wrong idea, but that would have been better than this. Robin launched herself at Greg. If she could knock Greg off balance, Barney could get up. She swung a fist.

Greg captured her wrist in his grasp and steered her aside, then pulled her into an embrace. The camera pressed between her ribs. Laughter rumbled from deep in Greg's throat. "Robbie, baby, calm down. Everything's fine."

Robin wrenched herself away from him. "No, it is not fine. Don't call me Robbie, and the only baby here is in that-" she jabbed one finger at the stroller, then blinked. Barney's jacket draped over the handle, his tie coiled in the empty space where Ellie should have been. Where she wasn't. Robin's voice dropped to a growl. "So help me, if you did anything to that baby, I promise I will end you."

Patrice tugged at the back of Robin's blouse. "There's press everywhere."

Robin shook her off. "Barney? Are you okay? Where's Ellie?"

"Down here, with me. Greg was posing us for a picture, that's all. Check it out."

Robin's muscles went weak at her first glance at the two of them. Barney, down to shirtsleeves, collar open and sleeves rolled back, reclined on a plain white blanket, one of Greg's favorite props. Ellie curled like a human jelly bean on Barney's chest, legs tucked up and fist in her mouth. Unfocused blue eyes rested on Robin for only a second, then closed. "That's all?" Robin echoed Barney's words, her voice hollow.

Barney stroked Ellie's hair and planted a kiss on the top of her head. "That's all. See? She's good."

"Really," Greg added, "that is all. Look, you can see the previews." He turned the camera and directed Robin's attention to the small window next to the viewfinder. Picture after picture of Barney and Ellie scrolled past. Standing, seated, Barney's tie grasped in Ellie's fist, tie gone, jacket off. Ellie in her stroller. Barney by himself. The two of them together, on the blanket. Happy. Safe. Fine. She closed her eyes and willed her breathing to slow. "See? Standard poses. You're not the only one on a schedule. I hope we can talk later, but I do have to get all the VIPs."

Robin opened her eyes and glanced toward Barney for confirmation.

"Greg has a job to do. I have Ellie. We figured it was best to just take the pictures. Right?" His voice held the barest hint of an edge. He cut a glance at Greg.

"Right," Greg answered, his voice tight enough to set off Robin's bullshit meter. "Robbie, want to help me out and get in there?" He lifted the camera back into position. As natural as breathing, he slipped into the shoot. She wouldn't get anything else out of him, not now. She didn't want to think about anything later.

Barney patted the empty space on the blanket.

Robin swallowed. Four years. She hadn't lain next to Barney in four years, not since the hotel room floor in Argentina. She hadn't felt the heat from his skin seep into hers, hadn't fit the curves of her body to the planes of his. The wishbone charm twisted between her fingers.

"You don't have to do this if you don't want to." Barney's voice sounds like it comes from the other end of a long tunnel.

But I do, she told herself. The shot needed her. Man, woman, child. Universal. Timeless. Greg wasn't asking her to lie next to Barney. He wanted the woman to join the man and the baby to complete the image. Her dark hair and light shirt would balance Barney's light hair and darker shirt, the baby in gray between them. Full tonal range; Greg taught her to see that. She couldn't unsee it now. The picture formed itself fully in her mind. She wanted to be in that picture; more than that, she needed to be in it. With him. With them. She stepped out of her shoes and settled herself on the blanket next to Barney and Ellie. "Hi."

Barney's face creased in a display of pure, unadulterated pleasure. "Hi."

A delicious tingle coursed through her, gave her the courage to take the next step. "Hi, Ellie." Robin stroked the tip of one finger across Ellie's velvety cheek. "Having fun?"

"We are now," Barney answered, his voice low and intimate. His mint and citrus scent wrapped around her, drew her closer to him, away from the rest of the world. "How did the opening ceremony go?"

The sheer familiarity of his question shook her. They'd gone too far from the comfortable how-was-your-day routine they'd once known, but here, now, there wasn't any distance at all. "Fun," she managed past the catch in her throat. "Missed you, though. Do I still have confetti in my hair?"

"A little, yeah. I wish I could have been there, but doody called." His brows flashed, eyes sparked as he laughed at his own joke. One hand cupped Ellie's bottom. Robin couldn't help but catch his goofy smile and respond with one of her own. She longed to take his face between both hands and kiss him full on that mischievous mouth, right there, right then. Light at first, then deeper, slide her hands down into the open vee of his shirt, pluck the buttons one by one. Only problem there was, she'd have to reach past his daughter to do any of that. Damn. She slid her hand over Ellie's cornsilk hair instead.

The camera shutter clicked. "Beautiful. Hold that." Greg's shadow swept over them. Another click sounded.

Of course. The line between picture and reality stood out with that click, sharp and clear. "Wow, Ellie's cheeks are really pink. Is she getting too much sun? Does she need a break inside the trailer? We could move the shoot in there."

"She's fine, right Ells? Baby sunscreen is a beautiful thing." Barney tickled Ellie's tummy until she rewarded him with a gummy smile. Ells. Robin's heart pinched. "Guess what else happened." Barney waited only a second before he charged ahead with the answer. "I got Mr. Sherbatsky'd."

The name hit her like a punch to the gut. He had to be joking. "You did not."

"I totally did, and I answered to it. Guess there are some things you never forget."

"Guess so." Robin's fingers danced along the edge of Barney's collar. She'd gone right past baby and onto Barney without even thinking. She moved to pull back. He captured her wrist with a grasp that stilled but didn't restrain. Her skin prickled with anticipation. She could still pull away if she wanted to. She didn't want ot. Okay, wake up now. Ellie's soft gurgle reminded her that she already was. She offered no resistance when he guided her hand toward him and brushed his lips once across her knuckles. If they were alone, this would all be different, but they weren't.

Greg's name died on Robin's tongue as his shadow fell over the three of them.

"That's the stuff. Robbie, scoot in closer, other hand on baby's back. Perfect. Grownups, eyes on baby." Greg's plain soap scent cut through the familiar comfort, his voice a shade sharper on the word baby.

It wasn't right, to have both of them here. Wasn't right that she could smell them both at the same time. If they both touched her at the same time, she'd shatter into a thousand pieces. She inched closer to Barney, her gaze locked with his in mute appeal.

Greg crouched next to them, depressed the shutter twice, and sat back. His low hum reverberated in the air, punctuated by the drum of his fingers on the camera's casing. "Dog," he said at last, "no leash."

Alberta's tags jingled, and the hem of Patrice's flowered skirt flittered in the edges of Robin's vision. A second later, a frenzy of black and white fur charged across the blanket and poked her nose into the padding on Ellie's bottom.

Ellie startled, let out a wail, and burrowed deeper into the safe haven of Barney's embrace, away from Robin's touch. Robin scooped Alberta from the blanket, both hands under the dog's belly and held her tight, a mirror of Barney with Ellie. Greg's shadow swept over them, then receded. A rapid succession of shutter clicks narrated his movement.

Alberta laved Robin's face with quick, wet licks, interspersed with happy whuffles. Her tail whirled in a blur, round and round like a helicopter's propeller as she wriggled in Robin's arms.

Laughter rumbled deep within Barney's gut. Robin felt the sound before she heard it, that deep, true, pure joy she'd only ever known when she was with him. Ellie's sounds turned from cries to hiccups to a sound Robin couldn't name. Not a laugh; Ellie was too young for a real laugh, but a good sound, a not-scared-anymore sound that invited Robin into that world where life could be good again. Maybe it could.

Greg's voice cut through it all. "Barney, can you step out for a minute?"


	21. Chapter 21

"Huh? Why?" Barney tugged at his ear that wasn't pressed against the blanket. That other voice didn't belong here. The whole world was him, Robin, Ellie and Alberta. Dad, mom, baby, dog, the whole package. Whole. The single word coiled itself around his gut. He was whole here, with the three of them. All they needed was a white picket fence.

Greg's voice cut in, steady and calm. "I need to get just the girls, then just the grownups."

Pictures. Right. They were taking pictures. He'd forgotten, too consumed by the mingled scents of cherry blossom, baby powder and kibble. "Yeah, sure." Barney dropped a kiss on each one of his girls –at least the human ones; Alberta got a scritch behind her floppy ear- before he clambered off the blanket. The shutter clicked. He didn't care. He backed away, with slow, cautious steps, until Greg's nod told him he'd gone far enough.

Only the girls remained on the blanket, Robin and Ellie and Alberta. Robin laid Ellie on her stomach, at Greg's direction, then rolled over to mimic the pose before she signaled Alberta to lie down as well. Barney took an involuntary step back. His heart clenched. My girls. He blinked. They didn't vanish. Robin and Ellie, Robin holding Ellie; he'd called up that image more times than he could count, in those first days with Ellie at home. He hadn't been prepared for the reality, how right and natural the two of them looked together. Three of them, really, because he hadn't counted on the dog. The dog made sense, though. Robin needed dogs. This rescue gig was good for her.

She glowed. There wasn't any other word for it. He'd watched her, like this, from his perch in a director's chair on the other side of the camera, at WNN, spellbound by the sight of her. That hadn't changed. Robin in front of a camera, Patrice fluttering around the edges, some intern calling him Mr. Scherbatsky; just like old times. Except for Ellie, cradled now in Robin's arms, their heads pressed close together.

"Perfect. Hold that, then face out." Greg circled around the two of them, while Alberta rested her chin on crossed paws. He zoomed in, pulled back, all the while feeding Robin a steady stream of words that might as well have been a foreign language. All Greg had to do was give Robin a single word, hell, part of a word, and she'd respond. Turn Ellie's face toward or away from the camera, shift her position, put Ellie on her shoulder; Greg said it, she did

it. He didn't even need whole words half the time, only the energy that pulsed between them. Barney bounced his keys in his pocket.

Patrice's voice came from behind him, soft and quiet. "Robin and Ellie look good together, huh?"

"Yeah, they do. If I didn't know Ellie came out of somebody else, I'd swear-" He scrubbed one hand over his mouth. He'd swear, all right, but Ellie didn't need to hear that kind of language. What Greg did with the camera was magic. Barney didn't need any explanation other than that.

Patrice held out a tin filled with bone-shaped cookies wrapped in cellophane bags, all tied with paw print ribbons. "Cookie?" The ribbons matched Ellie's socks. He could put one of those ribbons in Ellie's hair, once she got enough of it.

"I don't have dogs. Yet," he added as Alberta play-bowed Ellie on the blanket. Robin rolled over onto her back, Alberta on one side of her, Ellie on the other. Her pure, clear laughter swirled around Ellie's gurgles. Alberta's tail wagged in a black and white blur. "Going to be a while until Ellie's big enough for that."

He'd forgotten how hard it was to dissuade Patrice when she wanted to help. "That's okay," she replied without hesitation. "These cookies are for dogs and people. They're made out of peanut butter and honey and oats. Robin shares one with Alberta over midmorning coffee when Alberta isn't in doggie daycare."

"That's good." Robin should have someone to share snacks with, even if it was a four-legged someone. They'd always split a bagel when he came to see her at WNN. She'd say she wanted the whole thing but then always pushed half of it on him. He still only ever ate half a bagel now. "How long has Robin had Alberta?"

"Two months."

Barney allowed himself a moment to do the math. Two months, same as Ellie. "So our kids are the same age?"

"The vet said Alberta was about eight months old when Robin adopted her. Maybe a little older."

"Right." One shoulder twitched. "Almost the same age, then. How is Robin, really?"

Patrice sucked in a breath. "She's glad you came today."

"I don't mean only today." He couldn't get everything he wanted to know in one question. Is she happy? Is she lonely? Does she like the work she's doing? Was Greg good to her? Was he better than me? Does she have friends? Is she seeing other guys? Is she smoking again? Who eats the other half of her bagel? He shook himself out of the endless stream of questions, and focused on the most important one. "Straight up, do I have a chance here?'

"That's not really my place to say. You could ask Robin yourself."

Barney fiddled with one rolled cuff. "I know. I was hoping for some insight from somebody not so intimately invested in the answer."

"I am invested." Patrice turned earnest brown eyes on Barney. "Robin is my boss and my friend. I'd like to count you as my friend, too."

"I think you have to. I eat all the cookies you send me." They came four times a year, without fail; his birthday, Christmas, wedding and divorce anniversaries. He wasn't about to tell Patrice he ate the first batch of divorce anniversary cookies in one sitting. Broken hearts, red frosting browned about the edges. So damned perfect, he couldn't stop himself. "Do you send cookies to all your bosses' ex-husbands?"

Patrice's mouth curved. "Only the one, so far. I know you get sad on those days."

"Thanks. The cookies help. Did you ever think of baking professionally?"

Gold dangly earrings flashed behind black hair as Patrice shook her head. "I like what I'm doing now, thanks, and I'm invested in anything that affects my friends. That includes you," she added and held out the tin once more.

Cellophane crinkled beneath his touch a second before Ellie's tired cry caught his full attention. He dropped the cookie back in the tin and crossed to the blanket in two long strides. "Ellie's done with pictures."

Color drained from Robin's face as she scrambled to her feet, a red-faced Ellie on her shoulder. "You'd better take her. I don't think she likes me." Her hands trembled when she lay Ellie in Barney's arms.

"Nah, are you kidding? She loves you. That cry is just Ellie for 'no more pictures.' Ask Lily. I'll give her a bottle, put her in the stroller, and she'll be out in seconds. Sleeps like a rock during the day, wants to party all night."

Robin worried her lower lip between her teeth. "Like father, like daughter?"

"Pretty much." He settled Ellie onto his shoulder. Her cries quieted.

Greg cleared his throat. "Actually, I still need to get the grownups by themselves. Patrice, can you watch baby and puppy?" He motioned Patrice closer.

Patrice set the cookie tin down on one of the folding chairs. "I'd love to give Ellie her bottle. Can I?"

"Sure. It may take her a while. She's already a picky eater." Barney transferred Ellie into Patrice's waiting arms, then started to straighten a tie that wasn't there. He flicked a glance to Ellie's stroller, where jacket and tie waited. His pulse quickened at the sound of Robin's voice.

"Greg, here's a fun fact. It's impossible for Barney to take a bad picture. Seriously. I will buy you the biggest slab of ribs in New York if you can take a bad picture of his man."

"I never take bad pictures," Greg said with one-sided smile. "Get the right photographer and the right subject, and there are no bad pictures."

Robin plucked at Barney's sleeve. "Yes, there are. You should see the pictures I took of Greg. He made me shoot a whole roll of him before our first session."

Greg adjusted his lens. "She's only talking about the first roll. Robbie's a quick study. She got better. If we had more time, I'd let her shoot you."

No doubt. Intrigue prickled the back of his neck. "Holding out on me, Sherbatsky? This guy turn you into a shutterbug?"

Robin's hand drew back like she'd caught fire. "Greg's overselling." She punctuated her sentence with a nervous laugh. "But, um, seriously, Greg, Barney never takes a bad picture. Okay, once, but Lily cheated. Where do you want us?"

Greg stood back, eyes narrowed as he regarded the pair of them. "Divorced couples can be tricky to pose. How about you two do what comes most naturally and we'll take it from there?"

Barney's lip curled. What came most naturally for the two of them wasn't fit for public consumption, especially with a bed only feet away from where they now stood. His jaw thrust forward. "Ew, no, there's a baby present. We're in public. There are kids all over the place." Too late, he reminded himself that wasn't what Greg meant. "Or we could sit over there." He inclined his head toward a nearby bench. "Whatever."

"You are such a dork." Robin shot a fond glance at him as she straightened his collar." The shutter clicked.

"I am not a dork. I'm concerned for my daughter's moral wellbeing."

One corner of Robin's mouth twitched, her lower lip drawn tight to hold back a laugh. "You're an idiot. Ellie is two months old. She doesn't have any morals." The tip of one clear polished fingernail flicked at his collar button. "Third shirt of the day, huh? Good choice." Robin's left hand, with naked ring finger, splayed against his chest, and covered his shirt pocket.

His heart pounded. She'd feel that, she had to, and maybe that was even the whole intent. "I would like to say Ellie has a finely developed fashion sense already, but she's basically a really cute throw pillow that poops and pukes. Which is what happened to the other two shirts."

"What happened to years of lightning fast reflexes honed by years of laser tag?"

"Two months of baby," they both said at the same time.

We should play sometime. The glint in Robin's eyes was invitation enough. No words could have been clearer.

Barney responded in kind. We should totally play. That would count as a third date. The agreement hung in the air between them, unspoken. Patrice's feet thumped on the trailer steps. The door opened, then closed. Neither of them moved.

Greg broke the silence. "Great pose there, but we're going to need more. Let's bring in a prop here. Robbie, you think you can talk this guy through Adam's part if we do the thing with the bomber jacket at the car show? Treat the bench like it's the Rambler. We're not going to use it, but that's where you're going to look."

Robin crossed to the stroller in three quick steps and retrieved the jacket and shook it out. One hand skimmed over a linen sleeve, to smooth away wrinkles. "Perfect," she said to Greg before she tossed Barney his jacket. "Stand behind me over here, closer to the tree, and drape the jacket over my shoulders."

Barney did as he was told. "Who's Adam?" The linen enveloped her. He hadn't given her his jacket since, when, Argentina? Before then? No, the day before The Fight, before the wifi went down. They'd been walking back to the hotel from dinner. She'd shivered, but she hadn't asked. She hadn't had to; he just did it. Like he just did it now. His hands lingered on her shoulders.

Robin shrugged. Her muscles flexed beneath his touch. "A model."

"A model, huh? Did you ban…" the trailer door opened. Patrice emerged, Ellie and bottle in arms. "Uh, did you date him?"

"I was with Greg then." Robin pivoted to face him. "No zipper here. Hm. Turn up the lapels?" She waited for Barney to comply, then tilted her head to one side. "Adam was just a model. Pictures were great, though. Brush my hair back?"

Another whiff of cherry blossom came at him. Girl had a theme going here with her bath products. He lifted the back of her hair free of the collar and smoothed it down, then let her voice direct him, moving only when and how she instructed. Threaded her arms through the sleeves. Turned the collar up, turned it down. Wrapped both arms around her from behind. Fastened the button, because there was no zipper. Rested his head on her shoulder as they both focused their attention on a bench that was a Rambler but not really. He'd slipped back, somewhere in the middle of all that, into that bubble where it was only her and only him. He wanted to stay there.

"Robin?" Patrice's voice broke the bubble this time. "The reporter from Dog Fancy is here for your interview, and then they need you on the main stage again for a sound check before the shelter awards." She wiggled Ellie's bottle as she spoke. It was almost empty. Miracle.

Robin unwound herself from Barney's embrace and slid out of the jacket. "Will I see you at lunch?"

His jacket smelled like cherry blossoms for the rest of the morning.


	22. Chapter 22

"Okay, Robin, you're clear for the next half hour. Your guests are in your trailer, and food is all set." Patrice consulted the clipboard she'd had tucked under her arm ever since Robin came out of the Dog Fancy interview, then gave a decisive nod. "Go have fun. You've earned a break. After this, you're filming the spay and neuter PSA, then there's the meet and greet with the radio contest winners and doggy fashion show after that. No other changes, except for your photoshoot after the closing ceremony. How's the headache?"

Robin rubbed at her temple with a weary hand. "I'll be fine. I'm probably hungry. That half bagel is long gone."

Patrice tilted her head to regard Robin with narrowed eyes. "Okay, but you text me if you need anything. I have some extra strength aspirin whenever you say the word."

"I'm fine. I just need to see Barney." Damn, she hadn't meant to actually say that.

Patrice's cheeks plumped. "Say hi for me," she said with a wave and turned toward the craft services table, a bounce in her step.

Robin let out a long breath and bent to unhook Alberta's leash. Alberta shook her head and bounded up the stairs, her tail a blur of frenetic motion. Robin grasped the railing and hoisted herself onto the top step. The door gave way beneath her touch. Alberta made a beeline for her bed and ratted her unstuffed beaver toy with all the intensity of a tropical storm. Robin, in contrast, stood frozen in place.

If it weren't for Ellie curled on Barney's chest, Robin might have thought she'd stepped back in time. She'd seen this exact sight countless times before; Barney sprawled on one end of the couch, drink in hand, electronic device at the ready, takeout containers arrayed on the coffee table in front of him. For three years, that sight meant she'd come home; she could relax. Now, her gut reaction was to back down those trailer steps, head for the craft services table and hang out with Patrice until duty called again. That would be the safest route.

"Hey. How'd it go?"

Okay, lunch with Patrice was not an option anymore, if Barney was already talking to her. Fine. History wanted to repeat itself? Why the hell not? She could play along, at least for now. She shut the door and grabbed the drink from Barney's hand, then flopped on the other end of the couch. "Greg is a real bastard." She closed her lips around the straw and took a long drink of the cold, sweet liquid. Moisture beaded beneath her fingers.

Barney shifted to a full sitting position. One firm hand supported Ellie's head, her hair almost white against the blue of his shirt. "First, language. Second, that really is only iced coffee. Did something happen with Greg?" His brow furrowed, mouth turned down at the corners.

Robin set the drink down. It really was only iced coffee. She missed the burn of a good scotch, almost as much as she missed unloading on Barney at the end of a rough day. "Other than his being here?" She pried the clear plastic lid from the nearest container. The scents of cheddar cheese and bacon wafted on the vapor that rose from the uncovered dish. Macaroni and cheese with bacon crumbles and graham cracker topping. Totally worth the extra time at the gym this would require. She extracted one table setting from the rolled paper napkin and jabbed her fork into the container. Macaroni, cheese, bacon and topping overflowed the tines. "Being here and taking pictures, that's what he did."

"Um, I may be speaking as an outsider here," Barney reached past her, for the other fork. Corded muscles flexed with the motion. "But isn't that what photographers generally do, when they're at work?" He speared a wide bit of bacon, then scooped a generous portion of crumbly topping on top of it. "Take pictures?"

"Greg took pictures of us." Robin gestured with her fork. Long tendrils of melted cheese swung with the motion. Alberta flung her badger and lunged for the melted cheese. "You and me. You and me and Ellie." She pulled the long strings free and dropped them in front of Alberta. "And Alberta."

Barney's jaw shifted as he chewed. Ellie's hands fisted in his shirt. She had a different onesie on now, white and yellow daisies scattered over a field of heather gray. This wasn't the right time to ask what happened to the other one. He swallowed. "I take it this is about more than Greg doing his job."

Robin kicked off her shoes and drew her legs up onto the couch. "Photography," she said between bites of cheese and bacon, "was our thing, his and mine. I mean, yeah, it's Greg's job, but it's also how we got to know each other. How we—" Nope, not going there. She lifted the lid from the next container. Four hot dogs, split and grilled, on grilled, buttered buns. She tore the corner off a foil packet of mustard and squirted an uneven line down the middle of the hot dog. A line of ketchup followed. Perfect. She raised the hot dog to her mouth and took a bite.

"How you fell in love?"

In love. The two words pricked at Robin. She coughed on the food she hadn't quite swallowed. Barney nudged a water bottle toward her. She picked it up, unscrewed the blue plastic cap and took a sip, then a breath. "I met Greg three days after the tabloid hit the stands."

Barney winced at the mention. "I am sorry. This probably won't help, but I thought about calling you about a million times to apologize."

She flipped the lid on another container. Barbecue beans, definitely not out of a can. Her fork hovered over the surface. "It wasn't your fault."

He cocked one brow. "It was my office. My former assistant who leaked our divorce papers. You deserved an apology, but I couldn't think of anything I could say that wouldn't make you hate me more."

"I didn't hate you."

"I hated me." He stuffed another bite of hot dog in his mouth. Ellie pumped her legs and let out a soft sigh of contentment. "Infertility nightmare is not a phrase anybody wants stamped over their face on magazine covers."

Especially not when that face had no makeup, a red nose, puffy eyes and hadn't washed its hair in three days. "Everybody has bad days." Robin dipped her fork into the beans and stirred. If these beans had chunks of pork fat, she wasn't eating them. Infertility Nightmare Snuffs Out the Sparkle, if he wanted to get the entire headline right. She wasn't going to forget that one anytime soon. "I think that one was the worst. Final papers, you know."

"I do know." His voice was barely more than a whisper. "That day sucked."

She didn't doubt that, but it wasn't the same for him. "Was there anybody shoving a camera in your face and asking you personal questions in public?"

He smoothed one hand over Ellie's hair. "No. I never meant for anything like that to happen."

No fat, at least none she could see. She'd chance it. "The network wanted to give people a better image than that one, to link to my name, and they hired Greg. The first thing he said to me was to ask why I quit modeling, that I could have killed at it." Her voice softened at the memory. "I needed someone to tell me I was still pretty. Shallow, huh?" She followed the beans with the rest of her hot dog, then another swig of water. Anything to keep from telling Barney what happened after. It wasn't love, but she didn't regret it, either.

"I don't think it's shallow. I, um," his eyes and mouth both rounded, until Ellie rewarded him with her almost-laugh. His expression sobered. "A legal document that says the person who promised to love you forever doesn't want you anymore has that effect on a person. I get it."

Robin lay down her fork. He did get it. The divorce wasn't supposed to work that way. They were supposed to be free. Happy. Able to get on with their lives. "I'm not in love with Greg, okay? I never was, but I," she sucked in a breath. "I wasn't in love with news anymore, either. He took the publicity pictures, and then he said he wanted to hire me as a model for an independent project." She twisted the paper napkin between her fingers. Shreds of white rained down onto the carpet.

Alberta leapt at them with a playful growl.

"I wasn't Robin Scherbatsky, international journalist, when I was with Greg. I was Robbie. Just a model." That was how he'd introduced her to his friends, Robbie, my model. She'd needed a different life, one where she wasn't divorced from the love of her life and her heart wasn't broken, and he'd given her exactly that. "Being 'the woman,' or 'the girl,' being 'female figure,' that's where I learned how to breathe again; by modeling. Then he gave me my own camera, and I could decide what the world looked like, what went in the picture and what didn't." She wasn't going to try to describe that rush of power.

Barney didn't say anything to that, only cradled Ellie against his chest and stood. For one endless heartbeat, Robin thought he was headed for the door, that he'd be out of her life again, that quickly, without another word. She'd said too much. Scared him off. Her pulse raced. Her throat constricted. He pulled Ellie's stroller from its place next to the bed, lay her in it and resumed his seat. He leaned forward, hands clasped, elbows resting on his knees, his attention focused fully on Robin.

Relief slackened her limbs. "Greg saved my life, but that's not the life I want to live. I'm not going to ask you to understand. I don't know if I do. What we have here, now, you and me," her hand fluttered in the air between them, "it's too new to let anybody else come into it, right now, especially not," she couldn't say anything else, because she didn't know the right words.

"Not Greg," Barney finished for her.

She answered with a single nod. "He was supposed to be in Barcelona." Halfway across the world, not here, not a part of her present. He'd talked about the trip for months, enough that she'd never dreamed he would have canceled it to come shoot an event in Central Park. "There's a connection between photographer and model. It's hard to explain, but when Greg shot us, together, it was like you and he were both touching me at the same time. That," she moistened her lower lip with her tongue, "that did something to me."

One side of Barney's mouth slanted upward. "I would say you get the belt. Robin Scherbatsky, you have ridden the emotional tricycle. Respect."

"You're an idiot." She bumped the fist he held up for her, then laced her fingers through his "I'm going to have to go back out there pretty soon."

"Then you'd better eat." He leaned in to plant a quick kiss on her lips, brief, but ardent, then drew back. "I did not rifle through a gigantic barrel filled with tiny bags of potato chips for nothing. Check this." His hand slipped from hers. One second later, a small, red foil pouch rested in her lap.

Robin looked down in disbelief. "Where did you get ketchup flavored potato chips?" Second only to all dressed, but she wasn't complaining.

"What Mr. Scherbatsky wants, Mr. Scherbatsky gets. That, and the guy filling the barrel had a maple leaf tattoo on his neck -which may be why his job involves putting bags of potato chips in barrels- and I figured it was worth a shot. That was the only one. Love me now?"

"Yeah, I do." She tore open the bag and tipped it toward him.

He shook his head. "All yours. I am going to take one of these bad boys." He filched one of the remaining hot dogs, along with a packet of mustard.

Robin crunched into a large ketchup chip. Heaven, pure heaven. "Tell me you and Ellie didn't spend the whole morning in my trailer."

"We didn't," he said around a mouthful of hot dog. "We went to that pit bull thing, walked a couple of greyhounds, checked out some rescues. Did you know pit bulls were originally bred as nursery guards?"

She leaned back into his embrace, sprawled on the couch cushions, living vicariously through his experience, the way she'd done before things went bad Time travel. That had to be the only way to explain it. "I did."

Alberta sat up and begged. Robin threw her a chip. She caught it in her mouth and settled down at Robin's feet.

"If we can't snag one of those terrier-vacuum mixes when Ellie's big enough for a dog, I'm thinking pit bull. Probably a gray one, so the shed hair won't show on the furniture. No way a dog can make as much mess as a baby." As if on cue, Ellie's frustrated grunts caught Barney's attention. "Especially this one. Seriously, Ellie, again?" Barney lifted Ellie from the stroller and cupped his hand under her bottom. His face compressed in disgust. "Somebody is going for a personal best on most diapers filled in shortest amount of time, and this is our last onesie. We're going to have to go."

"So soon? I can have Patrice get a new one from one of the vendors. It would take five minutes, tops. Less, if we got one of the volunteers who can run really fast."

Barney bounced Ellie in his arms. A thin trickle of a substance Robin preferred not to contemplate oozed through his fingers. "We'd have to wash it first. Ellie's allergic to sizing. Sensitive skin, by Stinson. Time to get her home and in a bath. Probably a nap after that."

"For Ellie, too?"

"Ellie, too. Maybe we should try this again next week, if you'll be around next week?"


	23. Chapter 23

Robin's features went blank. The potato chip bag crinkled. She folded the top over and set the bag on the table, among plastic and Styrofoam containers. The ruffles on the front of her blouse undulated with the motion. She sucked in a deep breath, reached for the stack of white paper napkins and shook one out before she wiped both hands on it with medical precision. "I should be back by Friday."

"Back?" Ellie's towel dropped from Barney's slackened grasp and fell over his shoe like a shroud. He tightened his hold on Ellie. She turned her face into his neck. Even Ellie didn't want to deal with the truth here. Barney didn't blame her. Back meant away had to happen first. Robin would disappear, not only into the town car, into the airport, into a plane, another city, another country, but into the job. The Job. The one thing she loved more than she loved him. The Job never failed her. He had. He carried Ellie to the bed and placed her on the towel. "Where are you going?"

"Santa Barbara." Robin closed one food container with a click, then another. She stretched her legs and stood. "You should come."

Santa Barbara. The name echoed. He probably should go with her. She was right. What they had between them was new enough that it deserved undivided attention, or as much of that as he could give. He peeled the soiled onesie from Ellie's wriggling form. He'd been to Santa Barbara with Robin once, three months past their first anniversary. Robin interviewed former child stars about addiction and recovery. Toured a new facility to help the next generation of formerly cute kids with pill problems find their way in the entertainment industry as adults. Lain in his arms in the dark of their hotel room and unloaded the stories she wouldn't be allowed to use on air. Neither of them had to mention how easy it would have been for her to have been one of those kids instead of the journalist telling their stories.

He'd played tourist for the both of them, taken pictures and bought souvenirs because she wouldn't have time. Scouted places they could visit together, the next time. They'd always planned to go back someday, make a real vacation of it rather than Barney tagging along on yet another assignment. They'd never made it back. There was always another assignment. Maybe if he'd insisted, reminded her she'd promised they would have another shot at the beach, the mission, the movie palace. He stopped himself there. What ifs never lead anywhere good. "Wish I could." He grabbed for the diaper bag and pulled it closer.

Robin shifted her weight from one foot to the other. "Right. Going away together this soon would be stupid. We've only been on two dates. You have your job. Ellie needs you here. People who bring babies on planes are jerks. Or mean," she added, when he didn't say anything, too focused on getting the dirty diaper off Ellie and into the trash. "The ear popping, the cabin pressure. In flight movies. Who does that to a baby? Forget I said anything."

Barney swabbed Ellie's bottom with a wipe. The wipe made a swath through a mess halfway between avocado and peanut butter in appearance. No rash, though. Not an emergency, just gross. "Robin, stop. If things were," he dropped the wipe into the trash and reached for another. "If things were different, I would get on that plane with only the suit on my back,in a heartbeat. I'm not just me anymore." No matter how much he wished he were at the moment.

"Ellie." Robin's voice cracked. "Right."

Barney dropped the wipe into the trash. "I can't be away from her for that long." He tipped the bag and reached into the diaper compartment. "Maybe when she's older, but not now." Three left. Enough to get them home. Even Ellie couldn't go through that many on one car ride. "You should get some cinnamon rolls at that bakery on State Street. The regular ones, not the ones with the pecans. They look fancy, but they really don't make any difference in the taste, and the mouth feel is off."

The end of the bed dipped. Robin settled herself on the corner, far enough away from Ellie that the middle of the bed remained level. "I committed to the symposium before I knew we would be," she knotted her fingers together, hands clasped between her knees, "before you and I started," she bit her lower lip. "Before the wedding. I signed the contract six months ago." Alberta leapt onto the bed, climbed over Robin's lap and flopped down in a pile of black and white fur.

Six months. Before Ellie was born. Before Robin left Greg. Before she got Alberta. Before they'd sat across their table in MacLaren's for the first time in three years. Barney lifted Ellie's legs, tickled her belly and slid the clean diaper under her bottom. "Was Greg going to go with you?" Unwanted images crowded his vision. Robin walking along the beach at sunset, her head on Greg's shoulder, Greg's arm about her waist, his hand resting on the curve of her hip. Greg pulling out Robin's chair in the Mexican restaurant above that boutique she would have loved if she'd had the time to let Barney show it to her. Greg taking Robin by the hand and making a hasty exit when the Mariachi band spotted the obvious couple and launched into an out-of-tune serenade.

Ellie squealed. Discomfort, not fun. He'd fixed the diaper tabs too tight. He whispered an apology and fastened the tabs in the right place. Smoothed the pinch marks from her skin.

Robin's breath sagged out of her. "How does that even matter?"

"It just does, okay? You guys were together then." Greg was her boyfriend. A good boyfriend would go with her. Be proud of her.

"We aren't together now, and no, Greg wasn't ever going to come with me to Santa Barbara. He had the job in Barcelona. If you knew how badly he wanted that assignment, this wouldn't even be an issue."

Barney kept one hand on Ellie's stomach while he fumbled in the diaper bag with the other. "It probably wouldn't, but I don't know how badly he wanted that assignment. I don't know him." There was also the fact that Greg wasn't in Barcelona. They were out of onesies, but her skirt was in there somewhere, and he always kept a plain white t-shirt on hand for emergencies. They had enough emergencies for him to remember the extra shirt, so where the hell was it? The only other people to touch the bag were Ranjit, who hadn't opened it, and the intern who got Ellie's bottle out. Damn. Those clothes could be anywhere. How hard was it to find the pocket with the elephant on it? What did he do, go through the whole thing? The bag teetered on the edge of the bed, its handle within an inch of his reach, then fell over.

Robin caught it. She scooted closer. "What do you need?"

"Ellie's pink skirt and a white shirt. Find me those, and I will love you forever." He winced at the sound of his own voice. Not the best choice of words there. "They should be in the big section at the back, but they aren't. Do you know what kinds of looks people give when they see a guy alone with a baby in only a diaper? They are not admiring looks, I can tell you that much."

Velcro ripped. The plastic lining of the dirty clothes pouch rustled. Two snaps unsnapped, then snapped again. Ellie's stuffed zebra squeaked. A zipper unzipped. "These?"

Barney glanced at the neatly folded squares of pink and white cotton in Robin's hand. He accepted them with only a grunt of thanks, his attention focused on getting the shirt over Ellie's head, shoulder seams straight. "Where were they?"

"In the pocket with the giraffe on it."

"That's not even close to where I meant to put them." He ran the morning routine through his head while he fastened the skirt about Ellie's waist. Spilled formula on her first onesie, spilled formula on his first shirt. Also second shirt, which was probably still in a ball under the kitchen table where he'd thrown it. Ellie had taken the rest of the bottle while he was between shirts, which meant a trip back to the closet for shirt number three. Three shirt mornings meant all routine went out the window. Could be his own fault as well as the intern's, but at least he wouldn't be parading a naked baby through Central Park. He hoisted Ellie onto his shoulder and fussed with the drape of her skirt.

Robin tilted her head, one strand of hair wrapped about her finger. Her brows drew together. Her lower lip curved.

"What? Ellie flashing you?" Barney tugged at the ruffled pink cotton.

"No. Just watching you. Both of you." Her voice teetered on the bridge of cracking. "You made her."

What did she expect him to say to that? "Yeah." He retrieved the towel from the bed and tossed it toward the bag. It landed on Alberta. The dog pounced on the towel and ratted it with a fearsome growl. "Look at that; they're sharing already. Good sign, huh?" She didn't respond. "You can keep that towel. We have others." Still nothing. "It's weird, isn't it?" He angled his other shoulder toward Robin, the signal to hand over the bag. They'd perfected the shorthand by the time Luke was six months old.

Robin threaded the bag's shoulder strap over his arm. "It is. Kind of hard to ignore where she came from, you know? Stinking cute, though." She adjusted the closure on one of the front pockets. Her hand drifted from bag, to Ellie's foot, to Barney's forearm. "Like her dad. I do want to try this. Try us again. There's going to be moments, you know?"

"I know." He closed his eyes for the briefest of seconds, lost in the familiar feel of the way she stroked the hair on his arm, the skin beneath. The light score of her fingernails. Ellie's drool dampened his collar. Her tiny fist clutched at his shirt. "We have to go. Say bye to Greg for me. I'm sure the pictures are going to be awesome." He had to pull away from her now, before he let himself settle too far into the way things used to be. He curled his hand around the handle of the stroller.

Robin's fingers closed around his wrist. "I know you're going to have moments, too. If I didn't have to go to Santa Barbara, I wouldn't."

"You want to go, though." She couldn't disguise that.

"I do, and I want to come back. I will come back. We have a date to plan, right, Ellie?" Robin traced one finger along the side of Ellie's foot.

Ellie gurgled. Her gaze settled on Robin for a second before she turned her head back into Barney's shirt.

"I think that's a yes."

Two raps sounded on the trailer door.

Robin's hand fell back to her side. "I think that's Patrice."

A heavy silence filled the trailer, broken only by Alberta's play growl. "Goodbyes suck."

"Good thing this isn't one. I'm calling you tonight."

"No such thing as too late, okay?"

She tipped her head, lips parted. "Okay."

Ellie's foot wedged between Barney's ribs.

Two more knocks sounded.

"Not now, Patrice." Robin's voice ground from between clenched teeth. Just like old times.

The door swung open. "Not Patrice, sorry. She's kind of busy, talking to maintenance. Also the cops." The same plaid-shirted intern stood on the middle step, Patrice's clipboard tucked beneath his arm. "She said there's a situation with the doggy treat chef, so you need to do the whole demo instead of just introducing him. Instructions are here." He thrust the clipboard toward Robin.

Robin's brow creased as she skimmed over the pages. "What kind of situation?"

"Drunk and passed out in a port-a-potty. The chef, not Patrice. "The port-a-potty fell over. Onto the Cub Scout booth. Door fell open. Pants were not involved. Parents are mad. Huge mess, in more ways than one." He aimed a jaunty wave at Barney. "Hey, Mr. Scherbatsky. I can get that stroller down the steps for you if you're heading out." He bounded inside with the energy only an eager twenty-something could muster.

Barney stepped away from the stroller and lowered Robin's clipboard with a gentle touch. Being Mr. Scherbatsky had its share of perks, the biggest of which was the ability to suck face with Ms. Scherbatsky whenever he wanted. He went for the more decorous version, a quick brush of lips against lips, over and done before she or any onlookers had any idea what he was doing, then settled Ellie into her sling.


	24. Chapter 24

_Sock._

Robin rocketed off the bed at the sight of the tiny sock, white with black paw prints, against the dark red of the duvet. She pinched the sock between thumb and forefinger and tilted her head to examine it. No way could she get her hand into a sock that small, no matter how tight she clenched her fist, but Ellie's whole foot fit in there, with enough wiggle room to get it off without Barney's notice. A trace of green colored the seam on the toe. Barney put Ellie in the grass, probably for their photos. Robin's throat constricted.

Barney picked out this sock, maybe even especially for the occasion, so Ellie would make a good impression. Robin ran one hand over the surface of the duvet. Barney changed Ellie's diapers here. Plural. More than once. Even hours later, the scent of baby powder lingered. Baby powder for the baby Robin couldn't give him, but some random bimbo could. Did. Ellie wasn't going to go away. She was only going to get bigger. Ask questions. Want to hold Robin's hand when they crossed the street, like Marvin did. Snuggle into her lap when they watched TV like Daisy or Penny. Have a place in Robin's life, be alone with her when Barney wasn't there. Pretending this kid didn't exist wasn't even an option. Barney was glad he had Ellie; he'd said as much, in his own words. Shown it, too, the way he held her on the couch while he waited for Robin's return.

The image of Ellie, snuggled against Barney's chest on the couch burned itself into Robin's consciousness. Ellie snuggled against Barney, not Robin. For all that Barney assured her, with Oscar-worthy sincerity that he was okay with not having kids while they were together, now that he had one, it was like something that was missing from him wasn't missing anymore. She didn't know what to call it. Calm? Grounded? Mature? How much of the old, crazy Barney, had Ellie taken away? Robin crumpled the sock in her fist.

_Sock._

She swiped the back of her hand over her eyes. Great. Now she'd have to explain to Barney why his kid's sock has mascara on it. She rubbed at the black smudge. Maybe she could pass it off as another paw print, if she added some toes with a Sharpie. A really big, long paw print. Maybe Godzilla's.

Her phone sounded with the alert for an incoming text. She stuffed the sock in her pocket and took out her phone. Greg's caller ID bloomed on the screen with one swipe of her finger. Golden Hour. He didn't have to say anything other than that. Her pulse skipped. She stuck the phone back in her pocket. Her fingers brushed the soft cotton of Ellie's sock. Golden hour. She needed this.

The door opened with a turn of her wrist. Greg grinned at her in the fading light, vintage Kodak camera slung around his neck, sleek digital camera in hand, a six pack of microbrew in brown glass bottles cradled in his arm. "You first?" He offered the digital camera.

Months of moments almost exactly like this one rushed at her with all the force of the incoming tide. Greg. Cameras. Brown glass bottles, chosen for the art on the labels. She'd shoot him. He'd shoot her. They'd drink the beer once the light was gone, maybe shoot the bottles, lit by the moon or the lights on his beach house deck. They'd talk about work and life and their breeder exes. Greg would smooth her hair back from her face, trace the curve of her cheek with the pad of his thumb, then seal his mouth over hers. Then she wouldn't have to think about anything at all until the click and whir of the shutter woke her the next morning.

"Don't mind if I do." Their fingers brushed for only a second with the transfer of the camera from his hand to hers. A jolt of recognition shoot through her. She'd bought him this one for his birthday, broken it in during a blazing August sunset that mirrored the bonfire his friends had built. The scents of woodsmoke, burnt sugar and salt air rose in her memory. She gestured for Greg to set the beer on the trailer steps and centered him in her sight. "Why aren't you in Barcelona?"

Greg scratched at the shadow on his jaw. Shots of silver glinted in the light over the trailer door. They hadn't been there two months ago, or she hadn't noticed."What answer do you want to hear?"

Robin depressed the shutter. Digital cameras didn't make the same sound as the old ones. In another life, she could have asked for the Kodak, demanded it, even, and he'd have handed it over. She'd ceded that right. "The truth."

Weathered skin crinkled at the corners of Greg's eyes. One corner of his mouth twitched. "I never got an answer to my question. Technically, I never got to finish asking it. How do you even know what you were saying no to?"

Because I do. Robin forced herself to concentrate on the composition of the shot. Golden ratio. No, too much math. Rule of thirds, then. Divide the frame into a grid of nine equal squares. The four points where the lines intersect are the points of interest. Greg's voice echoed in her mind, those months-ago words, not the question she didn't want to answer. She motioned him to move left. There. "You know how I feel about marriage."

Greg cradled his camera in both hands and trained it on her. "Bet I could change your mind." A click and a whir sounded. He took a step closer. "We're good together, Robbie."

"We were." Emphasis on the past tense. Robin concentrated on the fall of light and shadow across his face. Light came from the fixture mounted over the trailer door, shadow from the deepening night. She moved her feet in a half circle, shifted position until she found that sweet spot where his face lay half in shadow, half in light. This was a good shot. The shot, even if she took a hundred more. He'd taught her to know that moment. She lowered the camera. "There's nothing more I can say. We don't want the same things."

Greg's camera spoke before he did, three shots in quick succession. "We don't want to be hurt again." He let his camera hang from its strap about his neck, and crossed to her, sneakers silent on the grass. One hand took the digital camera back from her while the other tilted her head, arranged her hair about her face. "Like that. Don't move. We're losing the light." The camera rose into position as though it moved on its own, a part of him rather than a separate device, and they were back, then, into the place that had no room for argument.

If time travel was real, then Robin had accomplished it twice in one day. First, with Barney on her couch, like they were back at home, before everything went wrong, and now, here, with Greg. Emotional tricycle didn't even begin to cover it. She didn't resist when Greg positioned her, moved her hair, her head, her arms. Didn't have to think about how to move, because there was always direction to take. Didn't have to think about the aching void where Barney used to be. Where she used to be. Only turn, hold, spin, arms above head, crossed at wrists. Left leg forward, bend the knee.

She didn't hear Greg's instructions as much as she felt them, but she heard the silence when they stopped. "Shake the hair and-" He broke off with a shake of his head. The camera dangled from its strap. "Jesus Christ, Robbie, Barney again?"

"What?" Robin' arms dropped from their pose. Her foot slammed into the ground. She bent to dig the heel out of the grass. "Who said anything about Barney?"

Greg dropped his full weight onto the trailer steps and yanked one of the beers free. "You didn't have to say anything. It's all over your face. That half smile thing you do, the crinkly eyes. That's all him." He uncapped the bottle and stared at the label before he took a drink. "Sorry, I tried to be adult about this, but I can't. Barney broke your heart. He broke your spirit. He broke you, Robbie. What are you even doing thinking about him that way?"

Robin eyed the remaining three bottle with a wary gaze. Wharmpess. Of course. She claimed one of the bottles for herself and plopped into the chair next to the steps. "I know. I've been asking myself the same question, ever since," she uncapped her bottle. Some things, Greg didn't need to know.

"First time I see you after we break up, and you're locking lips with the ex-husband who hit on women in front of you. That's the same man whose," Greg rubbed at the back of his neck, "I am going to say antics, sent you away from your home and all of your friends because they're also his friends and you couldn't take being reminded of him every day? For an added bonus, you were holding the baby he made with somebody else while you're kissing him. Not what I expected to see. How long has this been going on? Were you seeing him while we were still together?"

"No." Robin sputtered on the cold brew. "How can you even ask that? When I was with you, I was with you." As much as she could be, she didn't add. She tilted the bottle to her lips. Cold, smooth, prime Wharmpess. The camera clicked. She'd been faithful to Greg while they were together. He couldn't fault her for that. "I hadn't seen him for months when we met. I might never have run into him again if it weren't for Tracy strong-arming me into coming to the wedding." She slid the edge of one nail under a corner of the label.

Greg adjusted the camera's strap, a delaying tactic she'd learned on their second shoot together. If she had her camera now, she'd get that, focus on his hands, blunt nails against webbed fabric. Black and white, no color at all, because that would distract. "You broke up with me two months ago," he aimed the words at her, even as his fingers worked the clasp. "Barney's baby is two months old. Easy math." Broad shoulders shrugged.

"Irrelevant math. You wanted to get married again. I didn't." She'd tried, hard, really hard, to see the life they could have had together, in his beach house on Montauk, with its white walls and weathered wood, carefully crafted images blown up larger than life. Weekends with his friends who flew helicopters and drove antique cars and had playful arguments about which sailboat to take on the Sound. The composition was never right. "What we had was golden hour. It could only last so long. I'm sorry."

Greg's shoulders drooped. He'd shifted his attention to the lens now. "Me too. I knew we," he gestured between the two of them, "were over as soon as I saw my shirt folded on top of the bed. That made a killer still life, by the way. It's in the exhibit, which is still next week." He aimed a tentative glance at her, the camera still between them. "One of your pictures included."

Robin blinked. "I remember you took a lot more than one." She did remember them, from the first practice shots to loosen her up, props to give her something to do; wine to relax her, music to get her moving, Greg's voice, calm and sure, tying it all together. Tying her broken life back together again.

"I mean one of the pictures you took. The committee needed a portrait of me, and they picked one of yours."

The flash of Greg's camera blinded her. She dug the heel of her hand into her eyes. Pinpricks of light danced around her vision. There wasn't enough beer in the world to deal with this. If Greg had sprung this news on her when they were still together, she'd have known what to say, what to do. There would have been champagne instead of microbrew. Greg would still have captured her reaction, but there would have been a shot of the two of them, together, afterward, and after that, a more private celebration. "Really?"

No camera this time, only a calm, quiet, "Really. You have to come. You can't miss your own debut."

Her phone sounded the signal for an incoming text. Her pulse skipped. "Crap, I was supposed to call Lily. I have to take this." She dug her phone from her pocket. Lily's caller ID filled the screen. The entire text was a link to the DILFs of Central Park website.

"Everything okay?"

Robin's finger hovered over the link. Okay didn't begin to cover it. "Lily always posts a picture of Marshall when they take the kids to the park, then sends me the link so I can vote for him." Only, this time, the link didn't direct her to a numbered picture, but DILF of the day. Huh. Must've been a slow day in the park if a picture of Marshall got the most likes. Only Marshall wasn't there. He was home with Lily and the kids. She followed the link.

Barney's picture bloomed on the screen. He had his jacket off, sleeves rolled back, Ellie cuddled against him in her sling. A pink eyelet bucket hat protected her face from the sun. An iced coffee sweated in his hand. The strap of the diaper bag hung from his shoulder. Smile lines fanned out around his eyes, deep slashes on either side of his slanted mouth. This was right after lunch. This was what he looked like when he left her, when he was thinking about her.

She scanned past the counter, to peruse the hashtags -#blond #baby #newborn #infant #sling #stroller #coffee #suit #freshmeat #NoRing. That last one pinched. She dropped down to the comments.

_#NoRing, yes! There is hope._

_Nope, click to enlarge. There's lipstick on that straw._

She did. There was. Hers. Her lipstick, on his straw, and she was here. With Greg. She closed the link. "I have to go."


	25. Ch 25

"Go where?" Greg sprang from his seat before Robin could get her bearings. "Back to that asshole?"

Robin pivoted to face Greg. "His name is Barney."

Greg's upper lip lifted enough to allow a flash of white teeth. "I know his name. Trust me, Robbie, I am never going to forget your ex-husband's name. I've heard it too many times. I was the one," Greg thumped one fist, twice, against his chest, "who held you when you found out he knocked up some bimbo half his age. He wasn't even man enough to tell you, himself. No, he made Ted do that, but I'm the one you came to; I'm the one who had to pick up the pieces."

Her mouth tightened. Even now, she remembered excusing herself from the restaurant, after Ted broke the news. How every fiber of her being shifted into maintaining her calm, not only because they were in public, but because it was Ted. She was happy for Barney, really. He'd be a great dad. She'd delivered it straight-faced enough for him to buy it, held herself together for the trip from Manhattan to Montauk. She couldn't handle falling apart like that in front of Ted. He'd have tried to make her feel better; Greg knew that wouldn't be possible, because he'd been through the same thing. Greg understood. He should understand this. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Don't bring Ted into this." Ted would have stepped in if he were here, told Greg Robin could see anybody she wanted, then turned around and given her some speech about the universe and fate and destiny and following her heart, but Ted wasn't here. She'd have to handle this one on her own. The beer in her stomach soured. She didn't want to go back there, back to the deck of Greg's beach house, back to strong arms around her and the tortured animal sound that wrenched itself out of her gut the second Greg came to the door. The way she'd clung to him as though he were the only thing that could stop the world from spinning off its axis. Barney. Girl. Pregnant. Barney. Baby. Barney. Not me, not me, not me. The echo of words that would only come one at a time burned in the back of her throat. "Don't."

Greg's arms spread wide. "Look, I get it. I've been there. Divorce sucks. Hell, I even chased after my ex, and you know how that turned out."

She did. He'd told her the whole story, complete with pictures, because no Greg story was ever complete without pictures. An abandoned bouquet, its paper crinkled and petals scattered in the light from a streetlamp. The shape of another man behind closed curtains. A stark self portrait, weary and haggard, all of them black and white, now hanging on a gallery wall. "This isn't about you. I'm not you. Barney isn't Pam." He wasn't. Barney hadn't left her for another woman, because that other woman could give him the children she couldn't. Ellie was an accident, the product of a casual hookup. There was no wedding, no relationship. No second date. The girl didn't even stick around after Ellie was born, and Barney…he...he...dammit. Robin kneaded at her forehead until bright spots of light appeared Even her firmest pressure did nothing to ease the throbbing ache behind her eyes. "He isn't."

"The hell he isn't." Greg's voice carried in the night air, cut through the sounds of the work crew, carting away equipment, readying trailers to depart. Robin didn't know enough Spanish to follow the workers' conversations, but they'd be better than this one. "Sure, he comes off all charming and says all the right things. That's what he does. He looks good, yeah, I'll give him that. If I were doing a men's fashion spread, I would fight to get him. Man knows how to wear a suit, but underneath that?" Greg's eyes narrowed. His voice dropped. "Underneath that, he's the same douchebag who lied to you and walked out on you. Who didn't even fight for your marriage. "

The ache pulsed, harder. "You don't even know him."

"I know what he did to you." Greg slipped the Kodak's strap over his head. He rested the camera on the seat of the folding chair and crossed his arms. "Barney has a baby. She's a person, not a toy. He can't put her away when she's not convenient. She needs him. She's part of him. If you go see him right now, she's going to be there. He's going to be holding her. Taking care of her. Putting her to bed. Her, Robbie, not you. She's going to be there every damn day, for the next eighteen years. Maybe more. Every decision he makes, for the rest of his life, is going to have to involve her. Even decisions involving you."

Robin swallowed. She didn't want to think about Ellie. Didn't want to think about the distinctions between a Barney-and-Robin date and a Barney-and-Ellie-and-Robin-and-Alberta date. Didn't want to think about Barney bathing Ellie in the sink, making funny hats out of shampoo lather, that rumble of laughter from deep in his chest at his own creations. Didn't want to imagine him holding Ellie against his bare chest, skin to skin, while she drank from her bottle, like Ted and Marshall did with their babies after a bath. Didn't want to know what stupid nonsense lullabye Barney made up for Ellie when he put her down for the night in the apartment Robin had once called home. Right now, Robin had to focus on the two of them. Her and Barney. Only them. Nobody else, because nobody else mattered. Nobody else could matter. Not Ellie. Not Greg. Nobody else got a vote. She squared her shoulders. Her chin tipped upward. "I don't care."

"You care." Greg took a step closer, then another. He smoothed the hair out of her face with a gentle touch. She'd leaned into that touch, once upon a time. Closed her eyes. Let her head fall against chest or shoulder or pillow and allowed Greg to soothe the ache from head and heart and body. Allowed herself to feel something more than the gnawing emptiness that threatened to eat her alive. "Lie to yourself if you want to, but you can't hide it from me. I know your face. I know when you care and when you don't."

"Why are you telling me all this?"

"Because I'm doing what Barney wouldn't do. I came back to fight for you. For us." The scent of his cologne enveloped her. Cologne from the cobalt blue bottle on the shelf beneath the mirror, patchouli and amber and melon. The same fabric softener that smelled like Saturday mornings in Montauk, mixed with sweat and beer and dog and calm, always calm. Nights on the deck of the beach house, bare feet on weathered wood, loose limbs draped over each other, picking out shapes in the stars and shadows on the water. The pad of his thumb traced the shape of her cheekbone.

"Greg," she pushed his name past lips gone dry. "You and I, we can't-"

His breath fell warm on her ear. "What we had was real, Robbie. Don't pretend it wasn't."

Robin shook her head. "I wouldn't." She had too many things to remind her how real things between them had been. His jacket, still hanging in her closet. She hadn't sent it back yet. Her travel mug shaped like a camera lens. She'd had coffee out of it this morning. Her own actual camera, the kind that took film. Pictures in a portfolio. Pictures in frames. Pictures of her. Pictures of him. Pictures of them, even, because photographers knew photographers, and any gathering of Greg's friends could turn into a shoot that captured a single moment forever. Most of them did. The way an image could bring back the smell of woodsmoke in her hair, from nights by the bonfire, the taste of malt and burnt marshmallow on her tongue; she'd never lose any of that, thanks to him.

"It still can be. " His head dipped. His mouth covered hers, all promise and invitation. The taste of beer and orange mints threatened to pull her under.

One hand splayed across the soft-spun cotton of his t-shirt. She'd never felt shirts as soft as his. T-shirts and sweaters, the occasional sweatshirt, nothing that buttoned if there was any alternative. Her fingers curled into the softness of the shirt, the firm muscle beneath, bunched the fabric into her fist as one finger of her other hand hooked into the belt loop of his jeans. Jeans. Jeans, not suit pants. T-shirt, not button-front. Greg, not Barney. Her hand went slack. The phone dropped to the ground.

"I'm calling you tonight."

"There's no such thing as too late, okay?"

Unless there was. Unless she'd ruined everything. Unless this was cheating. Cold dread chilled her to the bone. She wrenched her mouth from Greg's, pushed away from him with all the force she could muster. "Stop. I can't do this. I'm," she faltered there. Married perched on the tip of her tongue, but that wasn't true anymore. "I have a," she swiped a trembling hand over her mouth. Husband wasn't right anymore. Ex-husband didn't fit. Boyfriend? They'd had two dates. There wasn't any word for people who'd only had two dates. Friend didn't even begin to cover anything."I have a Barney."

"A Barney?" Greg rubbed at the back of his neck. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means I love him." She retrieved the phone from the grass. Wiped it off on her trouser leg. Tightened her hold on it. Held up her other hand to stave off any objections Greg could possibly hurl at her. "I'm still in love with him. Everything you said is true. I'm not saying it isn't, but so is that. I love Barney. I tried to turn it off, and I can't. I'm sorry."

Greg's expression shuttered. His jaw tightened, mouth set in a firm slash until his lips went white. He'd never looked old to her before now, but every minute of the decade he had on her seemed to settle in, all at once. His arms crossed, muscles tense beneath the dusting of light brown hair on his forearms. Sneakered feet shifted on the ground. He had an entire wall of the canvas high-tops at home, arranged by color, light to dark, on shelves he'd installed himself, every pair with its own story. This would be this pair's. Someday, he'd take the left shoe off the shelf –always the left one- and let his words paint a picture of a summer night, lit by trailer lights, when a model he worked with once picked her ex-husband over him. Greg would be fine. He'd hurt and he'd take pictures and turn the memory of this mess into something beautiful. Whatever he made out of this would be more beautiful, even, than what would have happened if she hadn't left when she did, if she'd let him finish his question. She would have answered it, if he'd finished, and she would have stuck by that answer, whatever the cost. What the answer would have been, she still didn't know, and she wasn't going to guess.

She crossed her own arms, chafed the bare skin against a chill that had nothing to do with the weather, and swallowed the words she couldn't give voice. Say something.

His head tipped back, eyes closed, as his chest expanded with a breath so deep that Robin felt him suck the air from around her. Her heart thudded in the absence of his words. At last, he let out his breath and fixed her with a level stare. "Hard road ahead of you, Robbie. You don't want to be with me, okay. I get it. Message recieved, but do you have to go back to Barney? You went through all the hell of a divorce to get away from him. He has a baby. You still have the job he couldn't handle. What's going to make things better this time?"

"I don't kn-" Robin cut off at the sharp intake of breath behind her, and whirled to face the source of the sound.

Patrice, Alberta's leash in hand, froze in place. "Oh. Sorry. Should Alberta and I go around one more time, or can I tell the driver you're ready? Hi, Greg." Patrice offered a feeble wave in Greg's direction. "Did you get what you needed tonight?"

A sad smile played about the corners of his mouth. "Almost." He picked up the Kodak and slung the strap around his neck.

Robin put her hand out for Alberta's leash. "Car would be great."


	26. Ch 26

_You shouldn’t be here. You don’t belong here. You have no right to be here_. The words beat at Robin with every step she took away from the town car that lingered at the curb, toward the building she’d once called home. Alberta trotted at the end of her leash. _Turn around,_ the voice -damned if Robin knew what, or whose, it was; her own, maybe? Barney’s? Greg’s? Experience?The universe? The Wharmpess?- insisted. _Get back in the car. Go home_.

_I_ am _home_. Robin stumbled, Alberta’s leash twined about her ankles. This wasn’t her home, not anymore. She’d lost count of the number of times she’d made this same walk, from town car to front door, how many times she had dry cleaning over her arm, or a bag of takeout clutched in one hand. Never with a dog, because they didn’t have dogs. They should have had dogs. They could have had dogs. At any point, they could have gone to a shelter and adopted a dog. Barney wouldn’t have been alone, when Robin was away, if they’d had a dog. They’d have had to talk about the dog, even when they wouldn’t -couldn’t?- talk to each other. “Maybe that’s where things went wrong, huh, Alberta? Not having a dog?” Not Alberta, specifically, because Alberta hadn’t even been born yet when Robin and Barney were together. Too much math to figure out how many great-grandmutts there could have been between their last good day and Ted’s wedding. Not even worth a try.

Alberta answered Robin’s question ith a single yap. Her tail beat against Robin’s leg. That would be a yes. Any dog would say yes to a question like that. Whatever it took to make their human happy. There had to be a lesson in that, somewhere.

Robin dug into her pocket and slipped Alberta a treat. “Good girl.” It wasn’t too late. She could keep walking. That’s what she told the driver, who was not Ranjit, that she had to take Alberta for a walk around the block. He bought the excuse, but Ranjit probably would, too; it had been that long since he’d let her off at this curb.

_You left._ _You’re still going to Santa Barbara_.

Okay, _that_ voice was definitely Barney. Imaginary Barney, since they hadn’t had much time to discuss anything, but she could guess, and she could predict a consistent pattern. Her steps slowed. She had no argument Imaginary Barney’s objection; she _was_ going to Santa Barbara.She would have gone to Santa Barbara if she were with Greg. She would have gone to Santa Barbara if she were alone, only her and Alberta.

_Yeah, well, I have to,_ Imaginary Robin snapped back at him. _I have a_ contract _. It’s_ business _. You of all people should understand business_.

_No, Robin, I don’t. I don’t understand. It’s not just business. It’s_ us _. I don’t want to screw us up this time, not now that —_

_Not now that there’s Ellie, is that it? Because a human throw pillow --_ oh God, she’d called his child a throw pillow, and Ellie wasn’t that, not even close, but the kid couldn’t even roll herself over yet. Her whole world was eat, sleep, poop, repeat at this point, with the occasional Barney snuggle thrown in for good measure. Robin couldn’t fault the kid for that. Barney gave good hugs, always had. _— is even going to remember I was ever here?_ Ellie had looked at her, though, for those few seconds a new baby could, when she’d been close enough, and squiggled in her arms, and it was weird. Looking for Ellie’s clothes in the diaper bag was like a combination of _what if_ and _this can’t be happening_ all at once. Barney needed her, though. His face was all scrunchy and his voice did that impatient grindy thing she didn’t think it was possible to actually miss, and for once, _for once_ , she knew what she needed to do to make him happy. Find the baby clothes, that was what he needed, so she did, and the he was. Ellie probably didn’t care, because lying around naked, in an air conditioned trailer, on a hot day was a pretty sweet deal. Kid had the right idea on that one.

Showing up at Barney’s door at this hour, though, that was a bad idea. A very, very bad idea. Wanting to talk to her ex-husband-slash-potential-new-boyfriend, when she could still taste the last kiss from her ex-would-be-fiance, that was straight up crazy. She shoved her free hand into her pocket, in search of a breath mint, and came away with nothing but a scrap of foil from the empty package. She picked up her pace, her sights pinned to the awning above the building entrance. Alberta followed suit. It wasn’t too late. Robin could still turn this around. Do exactly as she said, take Alberta around the block, drop an empty plastic bag into the trash can for show, get back in the car, and go home. Call Barney, like she’d promised she would, from the safety of her couch, Alberta in her lap, a good scotch at hand, pants off, feet propped up and lights low. He’d never know she’d been literally on his doorstep. Almost on his doorstep. Only a little more sidewalk to go. Ellie would never know. The sketchy guy in the tan trench coat wouldn’t have to know. Robin wound Alberta’s leash tighter about her hand and squared her shoulders.

She could do this. Straight to the corner, make a sharp right, around the block, back in the car, and pretend to be asleep on the ride home, in case the driver turned chatty. They did, sometimes, especially the first time. Trying to establish some sort of rapport. Barney was the king of that. He’d have the driver’s whole life story before they left the lot, and they’d be besties if they ever wound up in that driver’s car again. She, on the other hand, did a lot of fake sleeping. Her earbuds got a lot of mileage, even when she didn’t plug them into anything.

Alternative plan: she could make a sharp right at the awning, march straight down the walk and flirt her way past the doorman, right up to the elevator bank. She could punch the elevator button, get into the elevator, ride it to the twelfth floor, walk down the hallway like she owned the place, and ring Barney’s bell. Literally, not a euphemism, but probably that, too, if the opportunity arose. It was possible. Definitely possible. Heat seared her cheeks.

Straight ahead or sharp right, those were the options. _Or…or…_ she could turn around right now, say Alberta didn’t have to go after all -that much would be true- get back in the car and forget the whole idea. Call Barney in the morning, when, after some industrial strength coffee, she had a clear head. Clearer head, really, because tomorrow meant packing and planning and making arrangements. Hell if she knew what she wanted to say to him if she did go through those doors , or pick up the phone. She needed more time for that, but she was almost there, close enough to tell the doorman was a new guy. He might recognize her, from the news, but he wouldn’t know she’d ever lived there, where one of the old-old-timers might have forgotten she’d ever moved out. Stupid to come all this way and turn back at the last minute, but she’d said she’d call, hadn’t said she’d come. Maybe there was a middle ground. She could text him, maybe. Maybe Skype. Maybe —

“Robin?”

_Crap_. Her own voice, that time. No mistake about that, same as there was no mistaking the all too familiar figure in rumpled white button-down and khakis. The Barney version of sloppy sweats, accented with gray baby sling, complete with baby. He had the top two buttons open, collar askew, left sleeve rolled higher than the right. She forced herself not to stare, not to at least fix the collar, because it had to be driving him crazy, or it would as soon as he noticed. “Hey.” The word came out more squeak than speech. Alberta offered her own yip and trotted forward with a loud sniff, her tail a black and white blur. Robin reined her in. This was not the time for either of them to be thinking of Barney as Guy With Treat In His Pants.

Barney’s features scrunched in confusion, brows pinched, nose crinkled. One hand cradled Ellie’s head, snug against his chest. Small, pitiful grunts emanated from within the sling. Barney took a step closer. “What are you doing here?”

Robin wound Alberta’s leash around her hand, once. “I had to walk Alberta.”

Barney raised one brow. “For sixteen blocks?”

_Dammit_. Robin tilted her head back toward the town car. “Uh, no. We have a car. I have a car. There’s a car.”

“Headed to some big dog adoption after party?”

_Perfect out, right there_. _So close_. _Take it_. Robin’s feet shifted. Her heel caught in a crack in the sidewalk. “You’re right. That’s exactly what it is. A dog adoption after party. Different building on this block, what a coincidence. That’s where I’m going. Lots of important dog people. And their dogs. Can’t have a dog adoption after party without dogs, right? That would be stupid. Dogs are pretty much the whole point. A lot of dogs got adopted today.” She’d read the final count into the microphone at the closing ceremony. She couldn’t remember it now. “Like, a lot. More than ten.” Crap, ten was not a good number in this case. There had been at least three numbers on that card. She should have kept the card. “Dozen. More than ten dozen. You should come _.”_ Her shoe tipped over. Her bare foot hit the sidewalk. She shouldn’t have said that last part. Definitely shouldn’t have said that last part. She wedged her foot back into the shoe and gave Alberta a scratch behind her floppy ear. Maybe Barney didn’t even hear her, with that weird bounce and sway thing he had going on, bending at the knees and twisting at the waist, side to side, his hand under Ellie’s head.

Barney’s mouth tilted. “Ten dozen is a lot of dogs.”  
  
“Hence the party.” _Alberta, would you please poop or something? Help your alpha female out here._

Alberta parked her butt on the sidewalk, nosed a discarded wad of paper and offered a play growl. No help there. Robin kicked the paper out of Alberta’s reach before Alberta could lick it.

“Sounds awesome. I’d love to come --”

_Oh crap. Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap, oh crap, oh crap._

“—but I’ve got Ellie. The Incredible Sleepless Baby, by Stinson.”

Okay, phew. Saved by the baby. Not awkward at all. “You could bring her.”

　

　


	27. Chapter 27

“Oddly enough, that would not be my first time sneaking a baby into an after party.” Barney bit back the _challenge accepted_ that perched on the tip of his tongue, because it wasn’t that easy, not with a baby. His mind clicked into gear. Depending on how sloshed the people already at the party might be, he could potentially pass Ellie off as a Manhattan Crested Hairless, as long as she stayed fairly quiet. If she slept. Like that was going to happen. He’d taken bigger gambles. This was _Robin_. On his doorstep. With her dog. She’d said she was going to call. On the phone. But she didn’t. She was here. He should have brought treats. “That baby was Eli, in case you’re wondering. James thought it was funny, but Tom had some strong words on the subject. Something about babies and alcohol and an unwholesome environment.” He didn’t have any hands free for air quotes, so an eyebrow waggle would have to do. “I happen to know at least three of the _dancers_ ,” eyebrow air quotes, he could already tell, were never going to be a thing, “at that party had kids of their own. The maternal instincts in that room would have kicked in the first second Eli came near any sort of danger, which he did not. I had everything under control.”

Robin’s mouth twitched, not a full smile, but close enough. Her lipstick was fresh, the same red she’d worn this morning. She’d put it on in the car, probably, checked her reflection in her compact, if she’d remembered to bring one, in the car window if she hadn’t. If he’d been in the seat next to her, she would have asked him to make sure she didn’t have any on her teeth. That was all part of the dance. He’d pretend to find something, offer to get it for her. Feint with his handkerchief, then swoop in for a kiss that would completely obliterate the entire application, if she’d let him get that close. She’d laugh and shove him away, tell him to save it for later. Her pristinely colored lips would curve the way they curved now, that exact tilt that sent a jolt of electricity through his blood. “You never told me that story.” 

He smoothed the wisps of Ellie’s hair. The whole bounce and sway thing would only last him so long; Ellie needed swings, or she needed elevator, and soon. “Tom made me sign a confidentiality agreement.”

A sound about three inches shy of a laugh came from low in Robin’s throat. “Tom hit you with a gag order?”

Barney drew himself up to his full height, shoulders back, chin lifted in indignation. “It was a confidentiality agreement. I will have you know I been gagged plenty of ti-” Ellie’s foot slammed between his ribs as she started with the grunts that came before a full on cry. He dropped a quick kiss on her forehead. It took two knee bends and four sways from left to right before Ellie’s grunts tapered to silence. He flashed Robin an apologetic grin. “Have to keep moving, or the boss lets me have it; only way to get her down at night. Rain check on the party?”

Robin wound Alberta’s leash around her wrist. She dropped her gaze. No fake lashes this time, no chance for him to fix one if it drooped. “Yeah. Sure. Next dog adoption after party, you’re my date. Locking that one in right now. I go to those puppies all the time. Pun intended,” she added, so quickly that it didn’t sound even remotely believable. “I’ll call you.” She finished with a curt nod, the same one she used to sign off from the serious broadcasts, the ones she didn’t want to make. In a second, she’d be gone. Off to her party, maybe with Greg. He couldn’t let that happen.

“Skip this one.”

Robin blinked. “What?”

“If we’re already locked into the next dog adoption after party, skip this one. Don’t go.” There were two more buildings past this one, only two places where the party could be. She’d walk through one of those doors, and that would be it. She’d have drinks and there would be guys there, guys with dogs, and no babies. Guys whose former assistants hadn’t splashed her private information over half the tabloids on both sides of the Canadian border. Guys who hadn’t broken her heart or given up on her. Guys who hadn’t given up on themselves.

Her head tilted. Her nose wrinkled. “I don’t know. I’m almost there. Coming all this way and not showing is kind of rude. People are expecting me. Alberta, too, because dogs, right? You would not believe the treat spread they have laid out on that one. Probably better than the people food.”

She was going. They had food at the party, for her and Alberta both. He had Ellie’s bottle, his own bottle of water, and half a pack of breath strips. Not even close. “After some of the dog treats I saw today, I would totally believe it. Seriously, what would it take to get you to bail on the party and hang out with a couple of swingers instead? By which I mean Ellie and me on the swings in John Jay Park.”

Robin twirled one finger in the hair that brushed her shoulder. He had a chance. Maybe. “Is that how it’s going to be with us now? You lure me with promises of fancy parties, only to end up hanging out in random parks?” Her tongue darted across the width of her lower lip, rendered the perfect lipstick excuse null and void.

“Uh, first of all, you’re the one who invited me to the party we’re not attending.” He could kiss her now, full on, right on the mouth. She couldn’t use her lipstick as an excuse, if she’d already messed it, and they weren’t going to the party anyway. “I’m just walking my kid here. Second, it can’t be _that_ fancy, if that’s what you’re wearing.” He cast a derisive glance at the pearlized buttons that marched up the front of her blouse. “Navy and white, classic, yes, but white cotton after six? At least undo a button or two.” Or three. Three would be awesome, especially with something small and lacy underneath. She used to have a camisole he’d liked, nude satin with spaghetti straps and lace trim. She’d worn that under white shirts when they were together. Three buttons open, and he’d get a peek at the pink ribbon rose that sat directly between her breasts.

“Excuse you. I came straight from work.”

Barney rocked Ellie from side to side, in time with the pumping of her legs. Time to double up on the knee dips if they weren’t going straight to the swings. “A work event to which you did not bring a fetching frock for the evening’s entertainment. Frankly, I am disappointed. Even Ellie has a little black Vera Wang ready to go at a moment’s notice, and she’s only two months old.”

Robin’s brows arched. “Vera Wang doesn’t make baby clothes.”

“She does if she owes you a favor.”  
  
“Vera Wang owed you a favor?”

“Okay, lost a bet, but you don’t really think she came up with the idea of starting her first menswear line on her own, do you? Fifteen minutes, and I can get us both changed. Unless she spews something gross, in which case, it’s more like two hours.” More or less. Probably more. “I’m still figuring out what she needs every time we leave the house. Best I can figure is ten pounds of stuff for every one pound of baby.”

That got a small smile and a shake of Robin’s head. She brushed her bangs out of her eyes. Alberta’s tags jingled. “Alberta is easy. Leash, treats, poop bags. Maybe a collapsible water bowl, if we’re going on a long walk.” She patted the bag that hung at her side. “Got that right here.”

“Ellie is not getting a leash until she learns how to walk. Poop bags would be awesome, though. Ted and Marshall were right about the lack of changing tables in men’s rooms. If they’re going to put defective condom machines in men’s bathrooms, there should be changing tables right next to them.”

Robin fished her phone from her hip pocket and tapped the screen, then moved the phone to her ear. “Hey, how’s it going? Sounds like one awesome party going on over there, but I’m not going to be able to make it.” She paused. Her mouth pinched. “No, I’m fine.” She pronounced each word like its own sentence. “Nope, Alberta, too. She’s great. Sniffing herself.” Her jaw tensed, a sure sign she didn’t like what the other person had to say. They wanted her to go. They were waiting for her. Maybe had people they wanted her to meet. Guys. A guy. Greg. “It’s,” her tongue swept over her lower lip. That lipstick was gone now. “It’s, um,” she glanced at him, then away. Bit her lip. Slipped one foot out of her shoe and back in again. Held his gaze and moistened her lip again.

Was that a signal? It could be a signal. She might have new signals. He could kiss her, once she put the phone away. Not when she was still talking. That would be rude. When she was done. He should do that when she was done. They’d look like a family to anybody passing by; dude, baby, chick, dog, all out for the same walk they took every night. They’d have it down to a routine. He’d take Ellie, she’d take Alberta. Maybe they’d switch sometimes, and have to check to see who has the treats or the bottle, remember what the other one forgot, so they wouldn’t have to go back, or duck into a bodega along the way.

“It’s a family thing.” Robin let out a breath that ruffled the hair around her face. “ _No_.” She drew out that _no,_ at least four o’s worth. Interesting. “That is not what I’m doing. It is not. I am not doing that. No. I have to go now; I’ll explain later.” She ended the call, thumbed the screen to darkness and returned the phone to her pocket.

“So, Greg?”

Her eyes flew wide open. Her skin paled. Red blotches bloomed on both cheeks. Her mouth worked. No sound came out.

“Greg.” Barney repeated the name, his voice flat. He nodded, once, brushed the back of his hand across the soft warmth of Ellie’s cheek while he searched Robin’s expression for clues. Ellie turned her head into his touch. Her mouth opened and closed, arms flailed. Barney slipped one finger into her grasping hand. Of course it was Greg.

_Gregory John Randall, American photographer, born August twenty-second, nineteen sixty-five in Dunkirk, New York. Known for innovative combination of conceptual and creative approaches to portraiture. Published collections of portraits include_ Faceless _,_ Shadow and Light _and_ In Repose _. Divorced, no children. Flew in from Barcelona to win back Robin Scherbatsky, and did not have to leave early because his baby pooped through all her clothes by the end of lunch._

Wikipedia didn’t have that last part, but it might as well have. That was the important part. Greg could drop everything and fly across the world for Robin, and all Barney could do was keep bouncing Ellie and figure out how fast he could get to the swings. “Okay.” Ellie’s grip tightened. “ I get it. You should go to the party. Tell Greg the family thing worked itself out and they don’t need you after all.”

“Barney.” Robin’s voice wobbled.

“It’s okay.” Barney slipped his finger free of Ellie’s grasp and took a step back.

“No. It isn’t.” Robin closed the distance between them. “I wasn’t talking to Greg. He’s not going to be at the party. We,” she bit off what would have come next. Her chin thrust forward. “He,” her mouth pressed into a thin line. “I,” her shoulders squared. The hand that didn’t hold Alberta’s leash shot out before he could react. Her hand cupped the back of his head, angled it downward, a split second before her mouth covered his. She tasted like malt and yeast. Smelled like cherry blossoms. Her hand slid down, from hair to neck to collar to sling.

Ellie let out a wail of protest. Barney dipped his head and quieted her with soft nonsense sounds. Held her closer. Stroked the back of his hand over her cheek. “Shhh, it’s okay. It’s okay.”

“We should get to the swings” Robin’s voice clipped the night air. There was air between them now, too much of it. “Alberta’s never been on a swing.” She flicked Alberta’s leash and set off in the direction of the park.

For the briefest moment, Barney didn’t move. He couldn’t, not until she’d passed the door of the next building, spine straight. She didn’t turn toward the building after that, only marched straight ahead. Alberta trotted at her side, tail in constant motion. She really was going to the park. Hope flickered in his chest as he took one step after her, then another. Dog in a swing; nobody wanted to miss that.


	28. Might As Well Light Everything On Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am now naming chapters, because of Alpacas.

By the time Barney caught up with Robin -she made some impressive time in those kitten heels, and running with a baby was not good for baby or parent- she'd already claimed a swing for her own. Next to the baby swings. That had to be a good sign. Ellie wouldn't be ready for her own swing for a few more months yet, but the gesture still counted. Or Robin just wanted to sit down. He'd go with the considerate answer. His chances looked better that way. 

Barney waved his customary greeting as he passed the knot of thirtysomething guys clustered on the edge of the basketball court. Only five guys on the basketball court tonight, three on two. Same guys as the last three Sunday nights, or most of them. Two cops, firefighter, rabbi, really-an-actor-but-tends-bar-sometimes, from what he’d picked up by eavesdropping. The dentist wasn’t with them tonight. Either somebody had a tooth emergency or Mrs. Dentist finally got those Mets tickets.

Really-an-actor held out the ball and tilted his head back toward the court, the invitation clear.

Barney shook his head and mimed rocking Ellie to sleep. Really-an-actor shrugged and passed the ball to Rabbi. He continued on toward the swing set, his steps slow, and gestured to the empty swing next to Robin. “Is this seat taken?” 

Robin glanced up from the dark screen of her phone, her expression blank.

Barney settled into the swing next to her, then set it into motion, the way Ellie liked, slow and smooth. She’d be asleep before too long. He stroked Ellie’s hair and hummed to her, low enough to disguise the actual tune. He had to be Dad right now, even with Robin dragging her foot in the dirt. Even with the way she held herself too straight, as if that could hold her together by sheer force of will. She had Alberta to take care of these times for her now, whatever the cause. Hopefully, it wasn’t him. Robin had an emotional support animal. He’d been replaced by a dog, which apparently did a better job. Look at which one of them she was cuddling. Still, there was that kiss. Hey, Ellie, go to sleep, okay? Daddy’s tired and Aunt Robin is…she’s here. 

At last, Robin slipped the phone into her pocket. “I sent the driver home. We might be here a while.”

“Cool.” She could stay over, if she wanted, her and Alberta. They could make the walk back to the apartment together, slow and quiet, so Ellie wouldn’t wake. Robin could come upstairs with them, walk right past the doorman like she’d done for three whole years, a lifetime ago. Put some water in a bowl for Alberta. Take off her makeup over the bathroom sink while he put Ellie to bed. Collapse onto the couch with him afterward. Fall asleep with her head on his shoulder, or, more likely, his head on her shoulder, Alberta between them. This wasn’t the right time for any of that. “I’ll make sure you get home.”

“Thanks.” Robin stared in the direction of the white shape of the play boat across from the swings, like she wanted to climb into it and sail away, just her and Alberta. Not Ellie. Not him. “Greg kissed me.”

The force of her words, quiet as they were, hit Barney hard, square in the middle of his chest, with enough force to interrupt the rhythm of the swing. It skidded to a stop. “What?”

Robin gripped the chain of the swing with one hand, the other buried in Alberta’s fur. “Greg kissed me. He came to the trailer to take pictures and he gave me a camera and we talked and we took pictures of each other and he,” she drew in a ragged breath, her sight focused on something far off in the dark, beyond the boat, beyond the jungle gym and the fence, “he kissed me.”

“Kissed you how?” With his mouth, duh. “Where?” Show me on Ellie’s teddy bear. Not on her hand. She wouldn’t be telling him if it were her hand. In this case, ‘mouth’ would be the most acceptable answer. “Did you put anything in your mouth after Greg’s mouth and before my mouth?” 

“Um, I finished my beer, and had some water in the car?”

“Okay.” They’d been drinking. Great. Like alcohol made any of this better. “Thanks.”

Robin twisted the swing, one quarter of her face in the yellow glow of the playground lights. “Thanks?”

Even that quarter of her face proved too much for him to take. He peered down into the sling, at the pale curve of Ellie’s head, her cheek smooth, her mouth slack.. “What do you want me to say? There might at this moment be residual Greg spit in my mouth.” Unless the alcohol in the beer killed it. Maybe. Depended on the beer, since alcohol content varied, but he wasn’t about to ask. He anchored Ellie with one arm and rooted in his pocket for the packet of breath strips. “You kissed him and then you kissed me. That’s more than an emotional tricycle. It’s a time release devil’s—”

“It is not a devil’s,” Robin’s face moved halfway into the light, her brows pinched over Alberta’s head. Her gaze flicked to the shape of Ellie inside the sling. “It’s not a devil’s anything. I didn’t kiss Greg. He kissed me.”

Barney extracted a single breath strip and placed it on his tongue. Cinnamon. Extra strength. Good. He’d need it. “Did you want him to kiss you?” He extended the container to Robin, out of habit, lid still open.

“No!” 

The basketball court fell quiet. Five heads turned in their direction. Cops One and Two moved toward the edge of the court, Firefighter behind them. 

“We’re good,” Robin called to her would-be rescuers with a wave and a smile. “Nothing to see here. Play ball. Game on. Mind your own business.” She laced that last bit with enough menace to get her point across. 

Cop One and Firefighter returned to the court. Cop Two aimed a brief but pointed stare in Barney’s direction, and lifted his chin, then followed the others. 

“Sorry.” Robin whispered her apology and took the container from him. She held the label under the light, away from Alberta’s twitching nose, before she took a strip for herself and snapped the lid shut. “No,” she said again, softer, this time, and handed the breath strips back, the smooth plastic warm from her touch. She turned the swing, now three quarters in the light. Her fingers curled around his, the container pressed between their palms. 

The ball bounced against concrete, accompanied by the squeak of sneakers and a trickle of trash talk, too far away to distinguish actual words. Alberta’s bright eyes fixed on Barney, the tip of her tongue pink against white fur. 

The pad of Robin’s thumb stroked against the back of Barney’s hand, the same slow, idle sweep it had made a thousand times before. The metal links of the swing’s chains clinked as she edged the seat closer. “I did not want Greg to kiss me. I told him no. Told him I’m still in love with you.” Her hand gripped his for the briefest of seconds, a heartbeat before she let go and swung back into three-quarter darkness. “Greg had,” she drew in a shallow breath. “He had all these reasons that me wanting to be with you again is a bad idea.”

“Because of the divorce?”

Robin turned Alberta’s collar so that the small silver buckle glinted in the light. “We got divorced for a reason.” Her voice balanced on the edge of a whisper. 

“But here we are.” His words hovered in the space between them. “You’re not at the party. I’m not riding the elevator with Ellie until one of us pukes and then cries themselves to sleep in a fetal position. FYI, I do not mean Ellie.”

“Amazing Sleepless Baby, by Stinson. Patent pending?” 

Barney reached into the sling and straightened the collar of Ellie’s onesie, pale pink with fluffy white sheep jumping over fences, clouds of soft gray Z’s all around them. Ellie had not yet picked up on that particular hint. “Patent granted. Ellie is and will remain one of a kind, at least on the Stinson side.” Ellie’s mouth fixed on his finger. She sucked twice, made a murmur of what he could only term disgust, and turned her head away. Eighteen years from now, her therapist would hear about this. She let out a sigh of resignation, and sucked, loudly, on her own fist instead. He set the swing back into sway. “That all Greg’s got? That we’re divorced? Please. Do you have any idea where I’m going to be on September fifth this year?”

Robin shook her head. 

“I am going to be spending my entire Saturday at a mini golf course out on Long Island, crammed into a pink and orange striped tent, with a bunch of people I do not know, and/or wish I did not know, sharing in the joy of Stuart and Claudia’s third wedding.” He held up three fingers for emphasis. “Third. They’re getting married for the third time, on a mini golf course. The invitation said casual attire. For a wedding. There is not only a singles table at this event; there is a single parents table. One divorce, like you and I have? Small potatoes.”

“Stuart and Claudia are getting married again?” Robin pronounced each word all on its own, as though she had to think about how they all went together.

“Remarried again. That would make it re-remarried.” 

Robin pushed at the ground with her foot, and matched her swing’s motion to his. “Think they’re going to last this time?”

They’d had this conversation before. The first time, Robin had tucked her arm in his as she’d asked the question, her voice so low only he could hear her. They’d made their way, in the recessional, with the rest of the wedding party, groomsmen in light gray suits, bridesmaids in purple dresses, purple sparkly polish on their toes, along a path lit by paper bag luminaries, away from the semicircle of tiki torches on the beach by the water’s edge. The lights of the reception hall beckoned at the other end of the path, DJ and cash bar primed and ready.

Stuart and Claudia had been husband and wife for the second time for a grand total of thirty-eight seconds. Barney hadn’t been able to answer the way he’d wanted to, then, because the beach was, for the evening, according to the priest, technically church. Instead, he’d leaned in, laid his hand on top of Robin’s, the wedding ring he’d been so damned proud of in plain sight, and said the same words that came to him as easily now. “They’re Stuart and Claudia. Who else would have them?”

Then, same as now, Robin answered with a demure lowering of her lashes, a restrained curve of her lips. This time, though, her lips curved in the wrong direction. Down, not up. “I didn’t even know they were back together.”

Barney let out a long breath and ran a mental tally. Stuart and Claudia, when did that get started again? After Claudia grabbed his ass in Ted and Tracy’s kitchen on Luke’s birthday, but before he’d met Number Thirty One, for sure. Before the perfect month. Early summer. “Almost a year now. Ever since Stuart got out of rehab. Maybe before. Claudia saw him a lot. Even took Esther the last couple times. Yeah, probably before he got out. He’s sober again. Doing the work.”

”Stuart’s sober again.” Robin repeated the words as a fact, not a question. “I did not know that, either. I have been away a long time.” She slipped out of both shoes and nudged them out of the arc of her swing with one push of her red-tipped toes. “We’ve been divorced now longer than we were married.We’ve barely seen each other in all that time. Four years. A lot can happen in four years. You have a baby. I have an emotional support animal.”

Barney forced himself to say the words he didn’t want to hear. “You just broke up with your boyfriend.”

Robin’s face pinched into a scowl. “That was two months ago.”

“If you need time,” Barney thumbed open the breath strip container again and slipped a second strip onto his tongue. He’d be tasting cinnamon long past the point he’d like. Times like this called for a cigarette, not a breath strip, but he’d quit three years ago. He shoved the pack into his pocket. Stupid doctor’s stupid medical advice. Family history and risk factors had nothing on times like this. He needed the flick of a flame, the orange glow of the burning tip on the dark. He could look at that, if he had it, when he couldn’t look at her, focus on the taste of menthol when he inhaled. The concentration it took to form the perfect smoke ring always gave him time to think of the most effective words for the situation. “To, um, get,” he definitely needed a cigarette, long and pungent and unfiltered. “Over,” he drew in a breath of night air and the memory of smoke deep in his lungs. “Things.”

Alberta flopped belly up in Robin’s arms and let out the least intimidating growl in all canine history. Robin complied with the request for a belly rub. “Things with Greg were over before they were over.”

“I’m not sure he got that particular email. Dude flew in from Barcelona to get you back.” Alberta’s grunt of pure satisfaction punctuated the statement. Not helping here, dog. If I did have treats, you would not get one.

“I didn’t ask him to do that.” Robin gave Alberta’s belly one final scratch and set her on the ground, pink leather leash still connecting the two of them. Alberta sniffed at Robin’s abandoned shoes, then embarked upon some serious personal hygiene, unaffected by the withholding of hypothetical treats. “If I was going to get all weird about this breakup, I would have done it by now.”

Barney angled his swing, careful not to disturb Ellie. She wasn’t asleep yet, but close enough. He craned his neck and swept Robin with an assessing glance. “No Cheetos in your hair. Good sign.”

She brushed one hand over the crown of her head, as if checking to make sure she really was Cheeto-free. “I’m the one who broke up with him. I didn’t get all sad and gross over the whole thing. Greg did not break my heart.” But you did. Robin didn’t have to say that for Barney to hear it. One bare toe traced a half circle in the dirt. “Greg and I didn’t want the same things, that’s all. We didn’t have a future together. I made a mature, rational decision and I acted on it. I’m not having second thoughts.”

“But he’s in your head.”

Robin’s hands tightened around the chains of her swing. “He knows shit. He knows a lot,” she drew out that lot, “of shit.”

“How much shit?”

If this were winter instead of summer, he’d be able to see vapor trail into the dark when she let out a long breath, almost as good as smoke. “Pretty much all of it.”

Barney rubbed at the trace of bristle on his chin. Long day, this one. “Yeah. Photography thing. Portraiture is a collaboration between photographer and model” He’d read about that, in the introduction to one of the four big, glossy photography books currently arrayed on his coffee table, courtesy of same day shipping. 

“Greg and I were more than photographer and model, or teacher and student. He’s divorced, too. Irreconcilable differences.”

Spouse: Pamela Bloomer Jones. 2008-2014. The Jones came courtesy of Pamela’s second, current husband, father of her three children.There’d been a picture of her in one of Greg’s books. In Repose, nothing but people in beds, or the equivalents of beds. Hammocks, couches, pool floats, that sort of thing. Gregory John Randall most definitely had a type; gorgeous brunettes with legs for days. Couldn’t fault him there. “Like us.” Well, that was smooth. There wasn’t anyone like them. Never had been. Never would be. He pretended to check the strap on the sling. Ellie’s breathing had slowed to a deep, even rhythm. Sleep. Finally. Alberta turned around three times, snuffled, and curled into a black and white ball. Her sides rose and fell, black nose tucked beneath one paw. The girls are asleep.The night is ours. Those were words for another life, one where he could close the door to a bedroom painted fifty shades of pink, and join Robin on the couch. They weren’t for the here and now. 

Robin tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Actually, yes.” Her voice faltered. “Greg can’t have kids, either. Testicular cancer, when he was in college. He’s okay now. The cancer’s gone. He just can’t,” she took in a deep, ragged breath and closed her eyes for one complete back and forth of her swing. “He can’t make babies.” She swallowed. “That’s why I went to Greg when Ted told me.”

Went to Greg when Ted told me. No need for elaboration on that one. “I am sorry.” Not for Ellie. He couldn’t be sorry she existed, only that she wasn’t half Robin and half him. “I couldn’t face you. I couldn’t do that to you, on top of everything else.” Even now, he couldn’t wipe away the image of the way her face would have crumbled, the quake in her voice as she tried to pretend everything was okay. That the mere fact he had reproduced with somebody else wasn’t a slap in her face,or knife in her back. That it wasn’t him delivering both at the same time. “I figured you’d hate me forever.”

Robin turned her swing into three-quarter light. “I didn’t hate you.”

“I hated me.” Still do, sometimes. 

“Your face may have been on a few shooting range targets.”

“Only a few?” His mouth slanted in a half-smile. “I kind of thought I’d be on all of them, and I don’t mean only yours. I mean everybody’s.”

Robin looped Alberta’s leash around the post of the swing set, slipped back into quarter light, and nudged her swing back with a small kick. “You were, for a while.” Her hair lifted with the motion of the swing, then fell back onto her shoulders, dark against white. 

“Did it help?”

“Nope. Really not a lot of precedent for this kind of thing, but I didn’t hate you. Even when I wished that I could. Even when I tried.” She planted both feet on the ground. The swing stopped. “You want to know how Greg’s in my head? Really?”

No. “Yes.”

Her shoulders flexed, the fabric of her shirt pale against the night around them. That was contrast, right? Full tonal range, if black and white were in the same image? Something from chapter one of Shadow and Light. “Greg asked what changed with you and me, that trying to get back together right now would be even remotely a good idea. We got divorced for a reason. We haven’t been in the same room in years. I couldn’t even meet your kid without my ex-boyfriend showing up out of nowhere, to try and get me back. The only thing that would have made that more awkward would be if it were your boyfriend and my baby.”

“Nope, no boyfriends. No girlfriends, either. Just baby.” Baby. Robin’s baby, though,he didn’t know how he’d have reacted to that. Robin’s baby that wasn’t his. A mini-Sherbatsky, without Stinson DNA, that would be a tough one. “That was not my favorite part of the day.” If the photographer had been literally anybody else in the world - Lily, Annie Lebvovitz, that guy who dresses up Wiemerarners- the pictures would have been just pictures. 

Robin turned back into the light, her face pinched. “What was I even thinking, meeting your daughter for the first time in public, with cameras around? That should have been private, just fam-” she clamped her lips together and fingered the wishbone charm on her necklace. “Just us.”

Just family. Barney’s fingers twitched. He liked the sound of that; their family. One cigarette wouldn’t even be enough for this conversation. A whole pack, one they could split through the night, and a bottle of scotch, that’s what they needed. No glasses, just one bottle they could pass between them until they’d worked this all out. Sneakers squeaked on the basketball court. At least two, maybe three of those guys had to have kids of their own. They’d know what to do. Hey, bro, want to watch my baby while I iron things out with my ex? Awesome. “You mean like now?”

Robin’s mouth twitched at the corners. “Us and those guys.” She tilted her head toward the basketball court. “Don’t wake her, though,” she added, her voice rushed. 

“After what it took to get her down? Not a chance.” Barney cradled Ellie’s sleeping form, and nudged the swing barely enough to count as movement. “She’ll be up again in a couple of hours, if you want to hang around. Four, tops.”

Robin shook her head, retrieved both shoes, and slipped them on. “It’s been a big day. I have to pack, for me and Alberta. All her stuff and her papers, so she can fly in the cabin with me.” 

“Are you,” he shifted Ellie inside the sling They’d have to get up in a minute, make their way back home,and settle in for thsi part of the night. “Are you okay on planes?”

“It’s not the planes.” Robin tickled Alberta beneath her chin. Alberta stretched and lifted her head in a yawn. “But bringing a dog on a plane is pretty cool, right?”

Barney eased himself and Ellie from the swing. “Totally. Where does she-”

“Service animal bathroom. Means a connecting flight instead of direct, but it’s worth it.” Robin shook out Alberta’s leash and hitched her purse onto her shoulder. Alberta’s entire body wiggled in anticipation. Robin didn’t move. “So…” She let the word dangle. 

“So.” Crap, he should say something here. “We still have a third date to plan when you get back?”


	29. Among the Living and These Ghosts

“Third date.” Robin nodded once, the motion sharp and decisive. “Yeah. Sure. We should have one of those.” 

“Sunday still good?”

Sunday. She’d be back by Sunday. Leave Santa Barbara Thursday, head to Montauk Friday night, attend the exhibition on Saturday, which would be completely professional and not at all awkward. She didn’t even have to talk to Greg if she didn’t want to; only circulate around the perimeter, get a look at the pictures. Slip out early, straight back to the city. She’d be ready by Sunday morning, scent of cigarette smoke washed out of her hair, taste of champagne rinsed out of her mouth. She’d even bathe Alberta twice, if she had to, to get all the sand out of her fur. “Sunday’s great.”

“Awesome. That solves the group outing, but we still have a date-date to arrange. If you’re back by Saturday night, we can do something then.” 

Robin twirled a lock of hair around her finger. “Um, Saturday. Yeah, I may have some work stuff to do. It might go late.”

Barney’s mouth set into a straight line. “Work stuff. Right.” His voice trailed into a ragged, weary sigh. “I remember work stuff. Are you going to be on air? I’ll watch. Ellie, too, even if it's after bedtime.”

“Um, no.” Unless there was media. She hadn't thought about media. There could be media. Greg knew people. Not like photography exhibits were hot news, but if the model for the whole collection was WWN’s lead correspondent, her name would pop up in tags somewhere. “I mean, probably not. I have to go over some stuff,” she rolled the collar of her blouse between her fingers. Barney was right. White cotton after six was flat out wrong. Unless it was black tie, and the white cotton in question was a tuxedo shirt. That would be okay. “Um, with some people. News people. Looking over news stuff. Be a big relief to spend Sunday with you and Ellie.

“Still up for another crack with the whole Ellie thing? No strangers, no cameras. just fam- uh, just us?”

“I'd like that.”

“Awesome. Where do you want to do it?” He coughed into his fist. “Have Ellie time, I mean. Our place?”

Our place. The words struck like a knife to Robin’s gut. Exclusive we in that one. Barney and Ellie’s home, not Barney and Robin’s. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and wrinkled her nose. “I’m not sure I’m ready for that.” Not ready to walk into the apartment she left. Not ready to see all the places where her stuff wasn't. Not ready to see what he’d put in its place. Probably stuff for Ellie, soft toys and bottle warmers, state of the art baby technology he could control with a tap of his phone.

“What’s so funny?”

Crap, she hadn’t actually said any of that, had she? She did a quick mental review. Nope, she did not remember speaking. Which didn’t mean that she hadn’t. “Nothing’s funny.”

“Do you forget who you’re lying to here? Something’s funny. You have your lips pressed together but the corners of your mouth are all,” he sketched the expression in the air with one finger. “You’re doing that. If my fly is open, just reach down and—”

“I am not zipping your pants in public.”

“I was going to say pet Alberta, but if you’re offering…” he raised one brow.”

Warmth fluttered in the pit of her stomach. “I’m not offering.” Right now. “I am curious, though, to see what Barney Stinson's baby's room looks like. Gray walls, those are a given. Little gray crib, little suit mobiles hanging from the ceiling so she can learn all her designers right from the start. A is for Armani, right? There's probably a stuffed storm trooper in the corner, to go with her wookie pajamas. Gray flannel cover on the changing table.” She’d have to stop soon. This could, theoretically, be worse than actually seeing the room herself.

Barney's mouth twitched at the corners. "Ellie's crib is white, thank you. James and Tom had everything from when they were going to -" he swiped one hand across his mouth. "From when Sadie was little, so they brought all that stuff over. I wasn’t much good for that kind of thing right then. My mom picked out some other stuff. Even Cheryl helped. Then Lily and Tracy got in on the whole deal, and by then," he scratched behind one ear, "you can fill in the rest."

She could. "It's pink, isn't it?"

"So pink." Laugh lines fanned out from his mouth and eyes. She could trace those lines, if they were alone. With her fingers. With her mouth. Make him stand there and study him. Learn him again, everything that was the same since the last time they’d been together, and everything that was different. All of it. Every plane, every angle. Every inch of flesh, from eyes to mouth to chin, down his neck to the pulse at his throat, the open button of his collar. Below that, once she got her hands on the buttons. "Come over on Sunday, and see for yourself?" One brow lifted, remained lifted, waiting for her answer.

Robin's pulse raced. Barney in the bar had been hard enough. Night air tingled cool along the bare skin of her arms. Barney in new places, she could take. Barney in public, that was fine. Barney in MacLaren's took pretty much about what she had, without Alberta, but bringing Alberta would have brought up questions she wasn't ready to answer at Ted's wedding. Barney, in the home they'd shared together, with the baby she couldn't give him? Hard no on that one. Not for the first time alone. Except for now. She was alone with them now,if she didn't count the basketball guys. Should she count the basketball guys? Maybe they counted for half. No basketball guys in Barney's apartment, not even if she wanted them there. Because that was the whole point, wasn't it? This next time would be just them. Just family. "How about my place?" 

The brow lowered. "Your place?" 

"It's puppy proofed.” There, that was reason enough. Cool, logical, rational reason. He couldn’t argue with that. “Puppies are baby dogs. It's almost the same thing. Outlets covered. No breakables left out for little snouts," she caught herself there. "Uh, hands. Did a whole segment on puppy proofing for Super Mutts. It's right on the website."

"I'll watch it." He rubbed at the back of his neck. "I wouldn't mind seeing Abdul again, actually. Does he work weekends?"

"Sometimes." Barney. In her apartment. Barney and Ellie in her apartment. Where she lived. Where she slept. Where she was supposed to make a fresh start, no connections to past mistakes. Where he'd never been. Her throat constricted. She wasn't ready for Barney in her space, either. Marshall and Lily's place, maybe, but there wouldn't be any privacy there. Lily would want to record everything. Marshall would want to make everything okay. Marvin and Daisy and Rose would be there, playing with toys, racing around, glimpses of the ages Ellie would be one day. Definitely not ready for that. Ted and Tracy's house would work, if Clint and Virginia weren't there, with Penny and Luke. Crap. Same problem with the kids, only this time, she'd have the added benefit of Clint's musical accompaniment. Double crap. It had to be her place. "Is around ten good?"

"Ten's awesome. I'll bring bagels." A pause, then, "For you and me, I mean.” He gestured between the two of them. “We would eat the bagels. Ellie is strictly BYOB. Because she eats out of a bottle.”

“Baby bottle. That’s funny.” Robin winced at the sound of her own laughter, too loud, too high. “You’re funny. Ellie drinks out of a baby bottle because she’s a baby. You have to bring her bottle. Guess that makes it BHOB, because you’re the one bringing the bottle, but she’s the one-” Crap, the basketball players were staring at them again. “You guys here to play ball or see a show? What, Broadway sold out?” This isn’t a show. It’s my life. She glowered and waved them back to their game, before she turned back to Barney with a smile she hoped looked natural.“Sounds perfect.” She'd have the home court advantage at her place. Abdul could be a freaking wall; if she told him she didn’t want to see anybody, they had less than zero chance of getting anywhere near the elevator. Her apartment would remain a Greg-free zone. If things got awkward, she could say she had to take Alberta out. That would buy her some time. She could do this. Probably. “Ten it is.”

The shape of a small fist rippled under the gray fabric of the baby sling. “Awesome. Now all we have to do is figure out a date for the two of us. We could Skype while you’re in Santa Barbara, figure things out.”

“Skype. Sure. Skype is great. We can,” she worried her bottom lip between her teeth. “We can talk. Figure out the details.” Like they used to. Like they’d stopped doing. She couldn’t remember when that stopped, couldn’t remember the first time she didn’t have time. Couldn’t remember the first time he forgot, or the first time one of them didn’t feel like it. Couldn’t remember the first time there wasn’t anything to say. There had to have been something to say. If Lily and Marshall could still tell each other what they’d had for lunch, she should have been able to tell Barney she had a yogurt and some meat she has been telling herself is chicken even though she has her reservations. Or something like that. Only talking, though, no private shows, no virtual anything. Ellie would be there. Private shows and babies did not mix. They shouldn’t. “I’ll have Patrice shoot you my schedu-” She stopped herself there. Going through assistants, that she remembered. “I’ll send you my schedule. We’ll find a time.” She moved to cover her yawn with the hand that still held Alberta’s leash. 

Barney’s head tilted. “Are you sure you don’t want to at least take a nap back ho-” his mouth clamped shut before he could get out the whole word. “I mean, back at my place? I still have a couple of those dog-and-people cookies, if Alberta’s hungry.” 

“Alberta’s always hungry, but I’m sure. I'll catch a cab home.” 

He stopped her before she could take her first step toward the exit. “No, I said I will make sure you get home, and I will.” He took his phone from his pocket and tapped once on the icon for the car company. Maybe she would see Ranjit tonight after all. She craned her neck to see the information Barney keyed into the form, but his fingers moved too fast. They always did. One electronic ping and the screen went dark again. He dropped his phone back into his pocket. “The car will pick you up in front of,” he paused there, rocked Ellie with a half-dip, half-sway motion that wasn’t all that weird anymore, “my building, about ten minutes. Walk you there?”

“Sure.” They fell into step together. His hand settled into the small of her back, one hand on her, one arm cradling Ellie. Alberta trotted along in front of them, her tail in its helicopter wag, around and around instead of back and forth. “How’s Ranjit?”

“Ranjit is awesome, doing more management than driving these days. Your driver tonight will be Sanjay.

It took three more steps before the name registered. “Sanjay? Ranjit’s nephew, Sanjay? He’s a kid. He’s what, sixteen?”

“Try twenty-three and paying back student loans.” Barney’s steps slowed. “Doesn’t seem that long, does it?”

Robin fixed her sights on the distinct Ellie shape inside the sling, dark against the white of Barney’s shirt. “Long enough, I guess. Maybe time moves differently for things like this.” If there were things like this. Maybe there were. What girl didn’t dream of the magical night her ex-husband and his baby walked her and her emotional support animal to their cab, with his hand on her back like there wasn’t ever anything wrong between them in the first place? She leaned into his touch. That hadn’t changed, either, the signal that the hand on her back should rub slow, counterclockwise, circles at the base of her spine, where the tension coiled. No way in hell was she even going to try to pinpoint the last time he’d done that. If she was going to tell him about the exhibit, this would be the time, but no way in hell was she going to chance having this be the last time he held her like this. She couldn’t. Santa Barbara, Skype, Montauk, Ellie on Sunday, the two of them later; that was the way it had to be.

By the time they reached the end of Barney’s block, the car already idled out front. His hand slipped from her waist. “Guess this is it, unless you need a ride to the airport.”

The night breeze chilled the spot where his hand had been. “No, thanks, I’m good with that. Patrice takes care of that stuff.” 

“Then you’ll be in good hands. Text me when you get home?” He slipped past her, to open the door. “If I don’t text back, we’re sleeping.”

Robin scooped Alberta into her arms. “Right. Daddy sleeps when baby sleeps. You could use it.” His face pinched at that, his mouth formed the start of a protest. She should have kept Greg’s camera; then she could take that look with her to Santa Barbara, keep it with her in Montauk. Maybe next time. She’d take a memory with her for now; the weary set about his eyes, the way his mouth tipped up at the corners even so, the contrast of gray sling against white shirt. Rumpled blond hair and blue puppy dog eyes. DILF of the day, every day. Her heart seized. Santa Barbara, Montauk, then back here. She’d figure out the rest.   
She leaned in and dropped a quick kiss on his mouth. “Night.” She pulled back after that, settled herself into the seat of the town car and closed the door. The car pulled away from the curb. 

She leaned back against the padded leather seat let out a long breath. Alberta’s tongue laved her chin with ardent doggy kisses. The partition slid open. 

“Hello, Robin.”


	30. The Difference Between Falling Stars and Sattelites

"Lily?" Robin scooted to the edge of the seat.

"Where's the poop?"

_Damn Lily's powers of perception_. "What poop? There's no poop. What are you even doing here?" Not that she minded, not much. Surprise Lily could turn out to be a much-needed dose of normal. Old normal, not new normal. New normal wasn't normal at all.

Lily glared at Robin through the partition as the car eased away from the curb. "There's poop. You fake-called me to get out of going to a party that I strongly suspect does not exist, after freaking out over meeting Barney's baby, and you expect me not to find out what the damn hell is going on here? Not a chance, sister." One hand came through the partition. "Hi, Alberta. Remember Auntie Lily? Want a scritch behind your ear? Yes, you do." Lily's fingers dug into Alberta's fur. "You're so fuzzy, yes you are!"

Alberta, the traitor, settled her chin into the hollow of Lily's hand. Robin hooked two fingers under Alberta's collar and held her back. "How did you even know I would be at Barney's?"

Lily scowled. "Please. I know you, and I know Barney. If there is a car leaving Barney's building, at this hour, there's a girl in it. If Barney spent his morning at your dog event and his afternoon," Lily's eyes went wide, her fingers still in Alberta's fur. A short croak died in Lily's throat.  
Robin's eyes narrowed. "Barney spent his afternoon doing _what_?" Her gut clenched. She forced herself to relax. Barney was the single father of a two month old baby. If he spent the afternoon doing anything, it was changing diapers and warming bottles. Maybe he took a nap, if the baby slept. He'd looked like he could use a nap. They both could have used a nap. All three of them could; four, with Alberta. Would have been tight on that twin bed, but maybe they could fit.

"Who's a good puppy? Alberta is a good puppy, that's who. Look at her." Lily ruffled Alberta's ears. "Anyway, like I said, if Barney spent the morning with you,and there's a car leaving his place tonight, then you're the girl. If you expect me to bring you granny panties in the expensive dress section of a fancy-ass department store, at the drop of a hat, and be your wingwoman—"

"I did not ask you to be my wingwoman."

"You totally asked me to be your wingwoman. It was implied when you made the fake phone call."

Alberta snuffled and licked the inside of Lily's wrist. Her hind feet shuffled against Robin's blouse. This thing would be going to the dry cleaner, for sure.  
"Okay, I made up the party, but that's only because I needed an excuse to be in front of Barney's building, the exact second he and Ellie came out of it."  
Lily scratched behind Alberta's floppy ear. Three birthstone charms dangled from her bracelet; one each for Marvin, Daisy, and Rose. "Why did you need an excuse to be in front of Barney's building? More importantly, why are you in a car that is driving away from Barney's building?"

"Why do you think?" Robin stopped herself there. "I'm not having this conversation through the partition. Wait a minute, you're not driving, are you?"  
"No, Miss." The accented voice from the front seat brought a wash of relief.

Robin waved at the opening in the partition. "Right. Sanjay. Hi. How's Ranjit?"

The car slowed to a stop at the next red light. The shadow of a neat, dark head nodded. "Very good, Miss." A doggy treat appeared, pinched between two long brown fingers.

Alberta let out a whimper and turned liquid brown eyes back at Robin, like she hasn't had about a million treats today already. Fine. They'd both run an extra lap around the park. "Okay." The treat disappeared into Alberta's mouth. The passenger side front door opened and closed, a heartbeat before Lily appeared in the opened rear passenger door. A suspiciously sturdy looking purple canvas tote hung from the crook of her elbow.  
"Shove over." Lily pushed the bag onto the back seat.

"Um, don't you have children who need you? You know, those short people who look like you and Marshall smushed into one person?" That bag had far too much heft to be a regular purse. "Shouldn't you be putting one of them to bed about now? Or back to bed? Marvin has to get out of bed at least, what, a hundred times a night?"

Lily let out a sigh. "We're working on that. If, okay, when Marvin gets up, Marshall will put him back down. Or my dad or Judy will. Point is, the kids will never know I'm gone. Right now, I'm concerned about you."

"I'm fine." Robin leaned in toward the partition. "Sanjay, small detour. Lily needs to be home with her family."

Lily plopped onto the seat and closed the door. "Sanjay, don't you dare. I _am_ with my family, right now." She slipped one arm around Robin's shoulder and gave a reassuring squeeze before she clicked her seatbelt into place. "This bag holds everything I am going to need for the rest of the night, and everything we need for tomorrow morning, because I am coming to the airport to see you off."

The car pulled away from the curb and melded into the flow of traffic. Alberta gave Lily's bag a curious sniff, then settled back into Robin's arms. No food in the bag, then, or nothing that appealed to Alberta. If Lily had something stronger than coffee in there, that would be extremely welcome. "You don't have to do that. I can get myself to the airport. The network is sending a car."

"The network isn't going to hug you before you go through security, make you text them the second you get to the hotel, or steal the high end toiletries for them. That's best friend territory, and don't you forget it."

This time, Robin slipped her arm about Lily's shoulder. "I won't. I do have some questions about how you knew there was a car leaving Barney's building, and had a go bag, ready to be in that car when it arrived at said building, but thanks for coming. I really don't want to be alone tonight." Robin leaned back against the padded leather seat. "I don't even know where to start with all of-" Her phone buzzed in her pocket. "I should get this. Could be work." She passed Alberta to Lily and fished the phone from her pocket.

Greg's caller ID flashed on the screen. Robin angled herself away from Lily's view and shielded the screen with her other hand as she opened the text.  
 _Best one. 3 3._ A paper clip icon announced the photo attachment Robin wasn't sure she wanted to see. Bursts of light, red, green, and amber from traffic lights, white from the street lamps, a kaleidoscope from storefronts and marquees, washed over the screen. Robin's finger hovered over the link. She cursed under her breath. If she rolled down the window, she could throw the phone out, and she wouldn't have to know, but then she'd have to get a new phone. There wouldn't be time before her flight. She turned back toward Lily. "It's Greg."

"Randall or Fisher?"

_Fisher_. The name poised itself on the tip of Robin's tongue. She wished she could say Fisher, that Greg Fisher had escaped from federal prison, and was coming after her, so he could get back at Barney through the people Barney loved, and she had no choice but to grab him and Ellie, and make a run for the Canadian border. If she had to pick, right now, between the two, between getting a text from the man Barney helped put behind bars, and the one who took her picture tonight, there would be no contest. Greg Fisher, all the way, but she didn't have that choice. What she did have was Lily. "Randall." She opened the attachment. "I can't look."

"Ohhhhh." Lily's soft exhalation faded into silence. "As your best friend, this is an amazing picture of you. As an art consultant, I am still mad at you for dating Greg Randall for almost an entire year and not introducing us."

Robin squeezed her eyes shut and rubbed at the vein that throbbed in her temple. "It would have been weird. It was never the right time, and it's over, anyway." Mixing the two parts of her life, having Robin Scherbatsky and Robbie in the same room, to have Greg set foot in MacLaren's, that would have disrupted the space-time continuum, shifted the very nature of reality. "I got you prints."

"They were great prints, but they weren't originals, and they weren't pictures of you."

"You have a million pictures of me." At least a million, at weddings and kids' parties, Thanksgivings and Christmases, some Halloweens, group pictures with all of them crammed into frame.

Lily tapped a corner of the phone against the back of Robin's hand. "Not like this one. You're going to have to look at it sometime."

Robin muttered a curse and forced herself to disassociate the image on the screen from the image reflected in the window, look at the model, not the individual. Her, not me. The woman in the picture held a brown glass bottle to her lips, lashes lowered, chin tipped forward. One thumbnail had worked its way underneath a corner of the label. Dark hair fell about her face, cast a shadow on an expression of intense concentration.

_Best one. 3 3_. She'd lost count of the pictures Greg had texted her, after their shoots, after she'd started the long trek from Montauk back to the city, or set off on assignment, always with the same message. She didn't doubt his choice. He couldn't use this one, not with an actual bottle of actual alcohol in actual contact with her actual lips. This picture wasn't for the event. He'd use something else for that, something bright and perky and posed. This picture was for him.

The phone vibrated out of her hand and fell into her lap. Alberta barked and lunged for the phone before Robin snatched it away. She checked the caller ID while Lily tightened her hold on Alberta. Greg again. _Figures_. No picture this time.

_Sorry. Old habits. Great cheekbones. Good whiskey_.

Robin shut off the phone and dumped it in her bag. "So that happened. Greg came back from Barcelona. He wanted to get back together. I told him no." She patted the seat between herself and Lily, her signal for Alberta to fill the space. Her hand fell on soft cotton, not leather. She pinched Ellie's sock between thumb and forefinger. Too late now to even think about hiding it from Lily. She smoothed it out along her pant leg, black and white against wrinkled navy blue.

"Is that Ellie's sock?"

Robin summoned a shaky laugh. "What? This? You think this is Ellie's sock?" She let the sock dangle from her fingers. "No, this is Alberta's sock. Hey, baby, give paw. Let's show Auntie Lily how much you love your doggy socks."

Alberta lifted her right front paw, a suspicious look in her bright button eyes. Robin turned the sock and worked two fingers inside. Barney's kid had seriously tiny feet. She tugged the cuff over three of Alberta's toes.

"If that's Alberta's sock," Lily asked, "where are the other three?"

One furry black toe stood out against the white of the cuff, the rest of the sock bunched over her claws. "You know dogs, always losing socks. That's why most of them go barefoot. True story."

Lily unzipped the pocket on the outside of her tote, and angled the bag to catch the glow of the street lamps. "Before you mangle your dog's foot, I should probably tell you I was with Barney when he bought those socks."

Of course she was. Robin pulled the sock from Alberta's paw. Alberta lapped at her unclothed toes with noisy slurps, her eyes narrowed to reproachful slits. Robin scratched behind Alberta's floppy ear. "I didn't steal Ellie's sock. Barney changed her in my trailer, and it was," she worked her hand from Alberta's ear, along her neck, down to her chest. "It was just there, okay? I'm giving it back, after I wash it. Fine, after Patrice washes it. How do you get mascara out of baby socks? It's waterproof, if that makes a difference." Her fist closed around the sock. She'd have to get mascara and dog hair out of it now, not to mention dirt. Sand from below the swing set, too. Sand couldn't be good for baby skin. "Is Barney a good dad?"

Lily took out a package of hair ties and tore it open. She slipped one elastic around her wrist, then dropped the rest back into the pocket. "I'm not going to say he's the best," she gathered her hair in one hand and secured it in a messy knot at the nape of her neck, "because that would be Marshall. Ted's pretty good. Stuart is greatly improved, and James and Tom—"

Robin cut her off with an ominous stare. "Lily."

"He's trying. Not going to lie, the first couple of weeks were pretty hairy. We were all worried for a while, but he's kept Ellie alive for two months so far, and he's only diapered the wrong end once. I'm kidding. Barney has never diapered Ellie's head." She set the bag on the floor and drew both legs up onto the seat. A pair of sparkly sandals dropped next to the bag. "Let's get back to the Greg thing."

"There is no Greg thing. Okay, there's a Greg thing. Well, two Greg things. Barney only knows about one of them."

Lily's toes sparkled with pink glitter polish. Daisy would have the same polish on her toes. Maybe Rose, if she was old enough. That was a mother and daughter thing, wasn't it, matching painted toenails? Lily peered at Robin. "Which thing does Barney know?"

"Barney knows that Greg kissed me. Tonight. I didn't kiss him back." Unclear pronoun on that one. "That is, I didn't kiss Greg back. I kissed Barney. You saw, right?"

"I saw." Lily answered with a satisfied tilt of her lips.

Okay, witnesses. Witnesses were good. "I told Greg it was over, and I told Barney that I told Greg it was over. He's okay with it, or mostly okay with it. We're having a third date when I get back."

Lily stuck one pink, sparkly toe in Alberta's tummy. "What's the thing Barney doesn't know?"

Robin gathered Alberta into her arms. If there was anybody on this planet she could tell, it would be Lily. "Before I tell you, you have to swear you won't tell Barney."

"I promise."

"Or Marshall." Robin put up a hand to fend off Lily's objection. "I'm serious. This is," she rubbed slow circles on Alberta's chest, "this is big. You can't tell Barney, or Marshall, or Ted or Tracy."

"Ted and Tracy are on their honeymoon. Nobody's telling them anything. Ted's last Instagram post was a Do Not Disturb sign on the hotel room door."

Alberta nuzzled her head under Robin's chin. Barney had added 'or else' to the sign on their honeymoon suite. O bien, really, because the sign was in Spanish. "You can't tell anybody. Nobody who is not in this car, right now, can ever know what I am about to tell you next. Promise?"

Lily answered with a single nod. "Promise."

The window to the partition slid open. "Not telling anybody." Sanjay's reflection mimed zipping his lips. The window slid closed again, as soft jazz piano filled driver's section.

"Sanjay's okay," Lily patted Robin's shoulder, "but you're kind of scaring me. What's the thing Barney doesn't know?"

"Barney doesn't know I'm going to Greg's exhibition in Montauk on Saturday."

Lily covered Alberta's ears with both hands. "What the damn hell? Robin, listen to me. You cannot do that."


	31. Gather Up the Avenues

  

"Why can't I? Please tell me, Mrs. Literally Married the Guy She Met In The First Week Of College, why, one-fifth of the way through the twenty-first century, I should have to choose between my marriage and-" Crap. "I mean my personal and professional lives." There, that sounded better. Vaguer. More adult and less like she had one eye on the traffic lights, in case she got an urge to stuff Alberta into her purse sprint away from this entire conversation.

"No backpedaling allowed. You said marriage." A dangerous light sparked in Lily's eyes. She jabbed one pink-polished fingernail at Robin. "You said marriage, which is both extremely encouraging, and allows me to skip my first reason you have to come clean about this, so I can get straight to the second, and arguably more important one. This is Barney we're talking about here. He may not know, right this minute, how long your trip to Santa Barbara is actually going to last, or that you plan on going to Greg's exhibition afterward, or that there's even an exhibition to go to at all, let alone that it's in Montauk, but he's Barney. This is the man who went without sleep for days at a time, employed special investigators, and called in favors, and entered into agreements that may or may not have required him to transport sensitive documents, and/or a package with unknown content on his person, across international borders, until he hunted down every last Robin Sparkles video in existence."

Robin scratched behind Alberta's pointy ear. Lily had a point. "He did find most of them." Alberta let out a satisfied grunt and settled into a ball in Robin's lap.

"Come again for Li'l Fudge?" Lily closed the space between them in one quick slide that rammed her knee into Robin's.

Alberta glared over her tail at the disruption, then flopped onto her back.

Crap. Alberta had it easy. Display a few belly speckles, stick her tongue out, and everything becomes adorable."Forget I said anything. It doesn't matter. Barney is not a Canadian citizen, and even if he were to go through the entire eight year process, and believe me, he and I have talked about this," at length, and occasionally at high volume, "there is no chance he would ever get a high enough security clearance to get anywhere near the absolutely last Robin Sparkles video." A phantom challenge accepted whispered through her mind. Maybe even the suggestion of a thirty-second PSA would be enough to throw him off the scent of Greg's exhibition. That PSA would be a nuclear option in more ways than one. "The exhibit isn't exactly plastered all over social media. It's private, by invitation only."

Lily shook her head. "He's going to know. I don't know when, and I don't know how, but there is going to be one breadcrumb you can't sweep under the rug, and he is going to pounce on it like Alberta on a liver flavored t-r-e-a-t."

Alberta slid one eye open.

Robin smoothed Alberta's fur. "I think she's learning to spell. Pronounce it lye-ver next time. She doesn't know that one yet. Show her your hands are empty and don't make eye contact."

The charms on Lily's bracelet jingled as she showed Alberta two empty palms. "You cannot slip this kind of thing by Barney. In a perfect world, Barney would never have met Greg, and Greg would have never met Barney, and they'd only be some kind of abstract concept to each other, but they did meet. They talked. They had time alone together when you weren't there. You can't pretend that didn't happen. There's blood in the water."

Double crap. Robin set Alberta on the floor and dusted her hands on her pant legs. "How do I get blood out of the water? Everything was fine until Greg showed up at the exact second my lips touched Barney's, and now it's all crazy. I have a speaking engagement I committed to six months ago. I can't get out of it, and I don't want to, but then there's Barney. He says he's okay with me going to Santa Barbara, but me abandoning him for my job was one of the reasons we got divorced in the first place." Even though that wasn't what she was doing. Not even close. "If I told Barney that part of the trip was to see an exhibit of photos of me, taken by my ex-boyfriend, he is not going to like that."

Lily's lips pursed. A soft intake of breath sucked the air from the car. "Pictures of you. Question: in how many of these pictures are you wearing clothes?"

Robin swallowed. "Most of them. Some of them. I don't know. Greg took a lot of pictures. He wanted the final selection to be a surprise."

"Oh, it'll be a surprise, all right. If you seriously think Barney is not going to somehow know that there are naked pictures of you, on display a mere four hours away from him, you have had way too much to drink tonight and I am keeping all this wine for myself, because I am going to need it."

So there was wine. She could use a bottle or two about now. "I only had one beer." With Greg, which would not help her case one bit here. "There are no naked pictures in this exhibit. I never posed for naked pictures. Porn is naked. Art is nude, and besides, it's more like," she fluttered one hand from neck to waist, "artfully draped, which is admittedly not a distinction Barney has been particularly great with in the past."

Lily patted Robin's arm. "I am not going to argue with you on that one, but is it going to be any easier if Barney finds out from some other source, instead of straight from you? Not me," she added, half a breath later. "I would never do that. Intentionally."

Intentionally. That was the important word in that sentence. "What do you want me to do, call Barney, tell him I'm going to the exhibit, that the whole thing is nothing but pictures Greg took of me, except for the one picture I took of Greg, and then ask Barney to be my date for it?" Barney, in his black tie best, stepping over the threshold of Greg's beach house, might bring the whole world to a screeching halt. She lifted the hair off the back of her neck and ran two fingers under her collar.

A wash of blue neon light from a storefront illuminated Lily's shrug. "Yes. That is exactly what I think you should do. Barney would be so freaking proud of you, especially if the pictures in the exhibit are as good as the one on your phone. Even more than that, your photographic debut? That's huge. He should be there. We should all be there."

A blur of blue, green and white lights whizzed past. In a perfect world, they would all be there at the exhibit with her. The fact that she and Barney, Lily and Marshall, Ted and Tracy were a package deal would go without saying. "Everything is different now. Barney and I are," she reached down to smooth a hand over Alberta's head. "I don't know what we are, but it's good. Was good. Is good, when it's just the two of us. Four of us. See? Even the numbers are different. Ted and Tracy are on their honeymoon, and you and Marshall can't just pick up and head off to Montauk without arranging for childcare for three kids. Ted and Tracy have two, and even Barney has one now. Do you even know how many people that would be if we got everybody together?"

Lily smiled beneath the yellow light of a streetlamp. "Twelve. Thirteen if we count Alberta, which I think we should. She's family, too. It would be amazing to have everybody in one place." Her shoulders drooped, then squared. "It will be, when we are. Once Ted and Tracy get back and settle in a little, we'll make it happen. Spouses, kids, dog, everybody. I'm not going to pretend I wouldn't kill for a ticket to this exhibit, but if you're serious about getting back together with Barney," she let the words dangle, eyebrows raised in expectation.

"I am."

"Then you have to show Barney he has nothing to worry about where Greg is concerned." Lily's face pinched. "Unless you do have any lingering feelings for Greg. Be honest."

Like she hadn't been already? "No. Greg is an amazing photographer, but that's it. We're done. I want to be with Barney, and only Barney. Okay, I'm a little freaked out that being with Barney will mean being with Ellie," there, she said it, "and I don't love the way Ellie was conceived. As a matter of fact, I hate it, but I don't hate Ellie. She's literally part of Barney. I can't hate something," she stopped herself there, blinked, shook her head, took in a steadying breath and scooped Alberta back into her lap,"somebody who's part of Barney. Besides, I have Alberta now." Alberta pawed at the collar of Robin's shirt, at the mention of her name. "Emotional support is in her job description."

Lily ruffled Alberta's fur. "And mine." She threw her arms around Robin and Alberta, her embrace fierce and oddly reassuring. "Don't ever leave us again." Lily cranked her hug intensity up to eleven before she released them and slid back to her side of the seat. "I mean it. You take off like that again, and I am coming after-" she stopped herself there. Her voice dropped to an ominous whisper. "I will send whichever kid, and it does not matter whose, is being the most annoying, to wherever you are, and make you their legal guardian. I know a judge who will sign anything I ask him, no questions asked, if he ever wants to have sex again."

"I'm not going anywhere." Except for Santa Barbara. "Besides, Barney counts as the most annoying kid half the time anyway." Robin shifted Alberta's collar until the red, maple-leaf-shaped tag hung in the front, where it belonged. She had to stay in New York if her new address was on Alberta's tags. There had to be a law about that.

"Exactly my point." Lily flashed a smile of pure triumph. ""No use even trying. I'm glad we're on the same page on that one. I will be even gladder if you have some quality hooch at your place. I am desperate for some girl talk that does not include the words Barbie, pony, or Harry Potter. Okay, maybe some Harry Potter, but only if it's at least a little smutty, and after at least one full glass of the good stuff."

At least. Even if she did have to fly tomorrow. Maybe one glass of the good stuff. Lily could do most of the talking. That might even be safer."I thought your bag had everything we needed for the night.

Lily shrugged. "Important occasions like you and Barney probably getting back together call for the good stuff, especially when there's a third date on the table."

Maybe a third date on the table. _Hey, I'm going to this thing in Montauk Friday night; you should totally come. Small gathering. Black tie. Open bar. Artfully draped pictures of me that might possibly take up entire walls. My ex-boyfriend wanted it to be a surprise._ Yeah, Barney would go for that. Right. Maybe if she led with the black tie part, to soften him up. _Bring Ellie, it'll be fun_. Exposing kids to art at a young age was good, right? When else is a baby going to get to wear a custom-made Vera Wang? With Barney, probably Friday.

The partition slid open. The shadow of Sanjay's head nodded once. "There is a bottle of Chateau Bouchard in the mini fridge. Complements of the house." The partition slid closed again.

House, in this case, meant Barney. Robin handed Alberta to Lily and pulled open the mini fridge. One bottle of Chateau Bouchard, and two chilled glasses. "Let's get this party started."

 


End file.
